


Dim Every Single Spark

by imperfectkreis



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Background Femslash, Background Het, Background Poly, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Depression, Friendship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rimming, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smoking, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:19:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7669831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shane's life is just fine as it is. Well, maybe it's not. He just can't see how it could possibly be any different?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spring I

Shane tries to rush through his beer before it grows too warm to be really tolerable. He’s been on his feet since six this morning, so it’s perfectly reasonable to down a drink at three-thirty. Gus doesn’t mind any, and gives Shane a soft smile as he tilts his head back towards the bar, considering a second beer to keep the first company.

He settles on taking that second beer, but works it more slowly, his stomach already feeling full, though he last ate around eleven. Shane rests his head in his folded arms, his nose just grazing against the condensation on the half-empty glass still on the table, the hood of his sweatshirt bunching up around his ears.

The door’s open, letting the warm Spring afternoon waft inside the Stardrop. Smells faintly of flowers, though Shane can’t really say which ones.

Before too much longer, other Pelican Town residents will start filtering into the saloon to socialize. But right now it’s just him, Gus, and Pam.

Heavy boots stomp onto the doormat, trying to shake the dirt loose from the bottoms of his feet. It’s that new farmer who just came down from the city. He’s not in town much. Well, maybe he is and it’s just when Shane is at work? Shane has seen him in passing a half dozen times since he moved in a few weeks back, but they haven’t really talked.

“Hey, Gus, right?” The farmer asks, running his fingers through his dark hair. It’s been shaved along the sides, but the stubble is already growing back in thickly. The rest of his hair is sweat-soaked and sticking.

“Well, good afternoon!” Gus isn’t one to be suspicious, even of half-strangers. “What can I get you?” Gus busies himself, grabbing a mug from the shelf.

The farmer runs his fingers through his hair again, trying to pull it to the side, but it sticks half up. “Just whatever you have on tap is fine. I’m not picky.”

Gus and the farmer make idle chat while Gus pulls the drink, leaving a healthy amount of foam on top. Shane expects the farmer to stay at the bar. Seems like the chatty type and Gus is the only one around at the moment who’s worth talking to. After taking a gulp from his own glass, Shane goes back to staring at his beer. He figures so long as he’s here, and not drinking alone in his room at his aunt’s, he’s alright.

When the farmer comes to the side of his table, asking if it’s okay to sit down, Shane lifts his head. Nope, he’s not imagining things, literally all the other tables are empty. “I’d rather you not.”

“Why’s that?” The farmer asks. He throws down his paper coaster before resting his beer on it. He doesn’t actually sit down, not yet.

“I don’t need you hassling me, just leave me alone.”

The farmer shrugs, “If you want to be alone, why are you in the town bar?”

Rolling his eyes, Shane isn’t about to go through his whole justification that drinking here means he doesn’t have a problem. “Just go.”

The farmer wrinkles his nose, then has a moment of realization. “Let’s try this again,” he sticks out his hand, “I’m Michael. And you are?”

Shane looks at Michael’s hand, he’s got a little bit of dirt still stuck under his otherwise close trimmed fingernails. There’s a cut too, across the inside of his palm and skirting up to wrap around the back of his hand. The whole thing is already scabbed over. But otherwise, his hands look soft and uncalloused. Yeah, sure, he’s been working that farm, but not for very long.

“Okay, great,” Michael continues when Shane says nothing. “I’m Michael and I’m pretty sure you’re Shane. Right? Marnie’s nephew?”

Shane manages a grunt. But maybe even that is too much positive reinforcement, because Michael settles in after that, pulling out the chair across from Shane and finally sitting down at the table. He wraps both his hands around his mug of beer, which is really irritating, it’ll just make the beer warmer faster.

“You work at Joja Mart and I have that farm just outside of town and we should totally sit around getting drunk in the middle of the afternoon together,” Michael smiles.

“How do you know all that?” Just one mistake after another.

Michael beams, no doubt because he’s managed to get Shane to say something. “From your aunt, of course, and, you know, other people in town,” Michael waves his hand as if finding out simple things like Shane’s name and where he works is an act of magic. Truth is, there aren’t that many people who live in Pelican Town, so there’s only so much gossip to go around. So, yeah, eventually, even someone as uninteresting as Shane comes up as a conversation topic.

“Your beer looks low,” Michael comments, standing up from his chair and going back to Gus at the bar.

Shane has about a third of a glass left, but he supposes Michael owes him the beer for Shane barely tolerating his presence.

Michael comes back with two more paper coasters, tossing them down before settling the beers. He’s still got more than half of his drink left. Before sitting down, he grabs up his old glass, drinking the remainder in one go, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He smiles back at Shane as if that’s supposed to be funny, or impressive, or something.

“You want to tell me anything about yourself that I can’t get out of your aunt or Emily?”

“Emily?” Shane questions. Why would Emily know much about anything having to do with him?

“Yeah!” Michael perks up, “You should have seen her face when I asked about you. I mean, she’s normally, you know,” Michael waves his hand, and somehow Shane does know what he means. “But she got really focused talking about you. I think she’s into you, man.”

Shane is certain Emily isn’t ‘into him.’ If anything, maybe she was excited to talk to Michael. Awkward haircut aside, Michael is pretty decent to look at, distinctive nose, full lips, tanned skin, broad shoulders. Plus he’s new and exciting, if you’re Emily. So, sure lots of reasons why Emily would want to get to know Michael better.

“She’s not,” Shane says firmly.

Michael shifts around in his chair until one of his boots sits on the edge of his seat, knee drawn to his chest, wedged in against the table. The position doesn’t look comfortable at all, but Michael leans forward to grab his beer once he’s satisfied. “I’m telling you, she totally is.”

Shane takes another gulp of his beer, because at least then he doesn’t have to respond to Michael’s suggestions. He’s beyond thinking that Michael is going to leave, so he might as well enjoy his free beer. Besides, as soon as someone else actually worth talking to shows up, he’s certain Michael will move on to the next table.

When Shane refuses to give up anything about himself, Michael just starts introducing topics where he doesn’t need Shane’s feedback. Like a windup toy who doesn’t fear running out of energy. “I mean, I’m not going to say I’m glad my grandfather died or anything. It’d been years since I’d seen him but, I guess I was just ready for a change, you know? I’d been going to business school. Doing alright, you know? No, doing great. I was doing great,” Michael laughs. “But, I don’t know. I was really excited and…never mind. You know what? I’m going to be really great at this farming thing too.”

Michael gets up without saying goodbye, not like that surprises Shane. When he looks around, he realizes the saloon has filled up. Emily is at the bar taking orders, Leah and Elliot sit together at the corner table, his aunt has a beer in hand, no doubt waiting for her usual weekly catching up with Willy. Everything is humming along as normal. Except for Michael. Michael is very obviously not normal.

No, not at all normal, because instead of joining another table, where he might find the company more hospitable, Michael comes back to Shane with two more beers, and fresh coasters.

“Why are you drinking with me?” Shane finally asks. His mouth feels sort of weird, stiff. He hasn’t said anything in a long time, even just to tell Michael to stop talking or go away.

“Who else am I going to drink with?” Michael gets back into his contortionist position against the table.

Shane gestures half-heartedly to the rest of the saloon.

Michael scoffs, “Listen, most everyone in this town is either about ten years younger or ten years older than us.”

Narrowing his eyes, Shane lists, “Leah, Elliott, Emily, Clint…Harvey is only four years older than I am,” Shane winces. And Harvey is a doctor. Has been a doctor for years already. And Shane can barely manage getting to Joja for his shifts. Not that Shane wants to be a doctor, but at least he should be something.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure any of them could keep pace,” Michael comments. Only then does Shane realize that Michael is sort of cloudy drunk, with a hanging smile and looseness in his limbs.

“Leah might surprise you.”

Michael smiles, “I like Leah just fine,” of course he does, Leah is quite beautiful, really. “But I don’t think Elliot cares much for me hanging around.” Of course he wouldn’t. “And you know, sometimes you need just, guy friends. Right?”

Shane honestly can’t say that he does know. It’s not as if he plans on becoming friends with Michael. Today is just weird chance. Same place at the same time.

“So it’s agreed, we’ll be friends then?” Michael says with utter confidence.

“No?”

Michael laughs.

–

Shane doesn’t see Michael for the rest of the week. Not that he’s looking out for the farmer, just, their paths don’t cross. He must shop at Pierre’s or something, because Shane can’t recall ever seeing him at JojaMart. Honestly, good for him. Shane wouldn’t come in here either if it weren’t the only place in town he could get a job.

Well, that might not strictly be true. There are other things he could be doing to earn an income, but Joja is the path of least resistance, he just had to check a couple of boxes and sign on the line and he was in. And now he’s just not willing to rock the boat. He’s out of the house enough this way that Marnie doesn’t worry about him too much.

Whatever.

He tugs the cart further down the aisle so he can restock canned artichoke hearts. His shoes squeak against the tile as he steps.

The collar of his uniform constricts around his neck, but he’s not supposed to unbutton it. He’s alone in the aisle and this time of day the store isn’t busy, so he pulls the button loose. If Morris wants to write him up for it, so be it. The place is too damn warm and he’s still doing his job.

–

He’s barely changed out of his uniform when Marnie knocks at his door. Shane kicks the fresh six-pack he brought from work under his bed so she won’t see it. Not that he is planning on drinking it tonight. But he wants to have it around, in case he gets too tired to drag himself to the Stardrop one day.

“Coming,” he assures her. Bending over, he makes sure that the cans can’t be easily seen before opening the door. “Yeah?”

Marnie smiles at him, “Oh, I hope it’s not too much of a bother. But Michael came by earlier today to order a pair of chickens for his farm. I’ll be taking the chicks over to him in the morning, but would you be able to deliver the rest of his supplies tonight? If not, I’ll make two trips tomorrow.”

Shane looks at Marnie wide-eyed. She doesn’t usually ask for him to help with the business, knowing that he’s on his feet all day at Joja. But he’s also noticed that she’s been moving slower this week, having more trouble crouching down. Her knees are bothering her, or something, and she’s just too proud to admit it. So Shane isn’t about to push the subject. “Sure, yeah, let me just grab my hoodie.”

It’s probably too warm to justify putting on his sweatshirt, but it covers him up in a way he likes, even if it’s impractical. The fabric smells faintly of cigarettes, though it’s been about two weeks since he last smoked. Shane never managed to get addicted to cigarettes. Probably because he didn’t actually try smoking as a kid. But that one semester he spent in college, it seemed like the thing to do, when all his friends had to step outside to smoke and he didn’t want to be left behind, guarding their beers in the dorm common room. So he’d have a cigarette here and there, still does, but he doesn’t ache for them.

Marnie already has the supply boxes stacked by the door. It’s just feed and bedding and water bottles, so the chicks will feel more settled once they arrive. It’s good he’s taking this stuff over tonight, for the sake of the birds. They deserve a good home, plenty of room and kind attention. He hopes Michael knows how to treat them.

Shane’s strong enough to stack the two boxes on top of each other to carry them over, but once he’s half out the door, Marnie calls out to remind him that the cart is right outside, so he can wheel the boxes up to the farm. Right.

There’s still plenty of early evening light, and Michael’s farm isn’t far, but once Shane crosses onto Michael’s land, he realizes that this expedition is much more treacherous than he expected.

He can see the house in the distance, it’s not that far away. And the brand new chicken coop that Robin must have built. But the ground in between where he stands now and where he’s going is choked with fallen branches and unearthed rocks. Michael’s grandfather must have had trouble maintaining the property in his last few years, and Michael hasn’t bothered clearing everything yet.

The cart is a no-go over the uneven ground, so Shane leaves it behind to pick up the boxes again. He has to be careful about moving, watching his feet to make sure he’s not stepping in something dangerous, then looking up to make sure he’s not going to walk into a tree, then finally moving. It’s slow going, but he manages to reach the area that Michael has actually bothered clearing without hurting himself.

Michael has a few small plots set up. Looks like parsnips and green beans and potatoes. Then a bank of tulips in full bloom edging the porch of the small house. Shane is careful to stick to the worn down path in between the plots, as to not disturb the crops.

Dropping the boxes at Michael’s front step, Shane intends to ring the bell and walk off. Michael may not even be home, so there’s no use sticking around. And it’s not like the boxes are going to get stolen off of his front porch. That’s just not how Pelican Town works.

He’s just about to hit the bell when the door swings open. Michael’s smiling, dressed in just his jeans and his hair wet from the shower. “Oh, hey! Thanks man,” Michael looks down, as if only now realizing he doesn’t have a shirt on, then back up, like it’s no big deal. “Want a beer?”

Shane is about to excuse himself, that he’s got to get back. But the thing he’s going back to is that six-pack shoved under his bed, if he’s perfectly honest. And that’ll be there tomorrow, or the next day. And, this way, he’ll be drinking with someone else.

“Fine.”

“Okay, great,” Michael beams, “Ah, come inside, I guess. We can drink on the porch but,” he gestures to himself, “Let me finish getting changed.”

Shane is about to bend down to grab up the boxes and bring them inside when Michael corrects him, “Leave them, I’ve got to take them to the coop anyway. Sorry my place is a mess.”

And looking inside, Michael’s house is a mess. Still mostly unpacked boxes. Looks like while he’s torn the tape off of a few of them, he hasn’t bothered to actually sort through everything. There’s a ball of used tape living sadly in the corner like some sort of fucked up tumbleweed, and a laundry basket full of dishes and pots and pans that’s just sitting on the kitchen table.

It seems too intimate, really, for Shane to actually come inside, even though Michael’s house doesn’t feel at all homely. He gets the distinct impression that the current arrangement is more or less Michael’s natural state. It’s not dirty, not at all. The floors are spotless other than the tape-monster and the walls are bare. Just, maybe Michael isn’t used to inhabiting a place. Maybe he’s perfectly content to live out of cardboard boxes.

“I’ll take the supplies to the coop, if it’s unlocked?” Shane offers, looking for an out.

The house is so tiny he can see clearly into Michael’s bedroom, no door to separate the spaces. He’s got a trash bag full of clothes he’s rummaging around in, trying to find some particular tshirt. He’s got dress shirts too, the sort that look totally impractical for a farmer, that are hung up in the built-in closet. Pairs of slacks too that are pressed and carefully hung. But his fucking tshirts are still in a garbage bag. Michael has lived here for almost a season already!

“Oh, sure yeah. Thanks. I’ll meet you on the porch?”

“Yeah,” Shane can’t get out of there fast enough. A moment more and he’d have to admit that he’d been way too focused on the lines of Michael’s back as he bent over. The kind of soft muscle definition that comes from targeted exercise rather than exertion.

The distraction of taking the boxes out to the coop helps Shane get his head back on. The coop smells of fresh, sweet sawdust and just-dried paint. Shifting the weight of the boxes into one arm, he manages to get the door open to slide the boxes inside. He’s glad the floor is clean and dry, and considers setting up the supplies to make sure it’s done right. Helping Marnie with the chickens was always his favorite when he was a kid and would come to visit. He can never understand why Jas can’t seem to get excited about them.

By the time he heads back to the house, Michael is outside, sitting on the porch steps, one beer between both his hands and the other on the stair next to him. The shirt he settled on looks soft and well worn, with the logo of some band or something screen printed across the front. Shane doesn’t recognize it.

He grabs the beer off the step and drinks half of it down in one go. The six-pack at home is cans, but there’s something, well, fancy about drinking out of glass bottles.

“Aren’t you going to sit? Or just planning on looming over me?”

Shane’s pretty sure he’s not looming. He and Michael are about the same height, though Michael is broader and obviously more muscular. Still, Shane scuffs his sneakers in the dirt before going to sit on the porch step next to Michael.

He’s expecting more idle, inane chatter, like back at the saloon last week. But mostly they sit in silence, looking out over Michael’s crops and nursing their beers. Shane is much slower getting through the second half of his drink. Though, he’s got a sneaking suspicion that if he finishes it, there’s more where it came from.

Between sips, he puts his bottle down by his feet. Michael never lets go of his.

“Want another?” Michael asks quietly, disturbing the comfortable silence between them for the first time. This is nicer than Shane remembers.

“Yeah.”

It’s not until Michael pushes himself up off the step that Shane really registers how close they’d been sitting, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. But now the excess heat is gone. Michael holds out his hand and it takes Shane a moment to realize he’s asking for the empty. But the bottle isn’t quite empty yet, so Shane rushes through his last sip.

While Michael is gone, Shane tries to shake the feeling coiling in his stomach: That he could get used to this.

Michael hands him another cold beer before flopping down again. When he produces no chatter, Shane finally springs into conversation. Because maybe, without Michael talking, Shane’s been thinking too much.

“I’m not very interesting,” he admits.

Against his side, Michael shifts his weight. Shane can feel every movement through the thick fabric of his hoodie. It’s far too warm, but he’s not going to take it off. They’re close, really close. And if he sheds his layers, they’ll be skin to skin all the way up the length of their arms. But then he’s noticing how Michael’s arm fills out the short sleeve of his tee.

“Everyone is interesting,” it sounds like a canned line. “How come you can’t just accept that I want to hang out with you?”

“Because there are better options.” Shane crosses his arms over the bridge of his knees, resting his head in the nest he makes. “Lots of better options.”

“For you too? I mean,” Michael shifts again. It’s going to drive Shane off the rails. “If everyone else in town is so interesting, why aren’t you friends with them?”

Shane shrugs, “Not interested, too much effort, I guess. I don’t know.”

“So, maybe I don’t know either. But I know I like talking to you.”

Shane has never heard something so ridiculous in his life. Because they barely talk.

They have a third beer while the sun finally disappears. Shane learns that Michael dropped out of business school. Not because he couldn’t hack it. His greats were great, exemplary, even. That’s not why. But then he doesn’t supply a reason and Shane doesn’t ask, he just grinds the soles of his shoes against the packed earth.


	2. Spring II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I mean, Paige is also amazing and did a [few sketches of Shane and Michael](http://bloodwrit.tumblr.com/post/148415936760/dim-every-single-spark-stardew-valley)

Seeing Michael in JojaMart takes Shane by surprise. He works pretty regular shifts and has never once seen Michael step inside the store. But maybe, before, he wasn’t looking.

Dressed in well-fit jeans and one of those checkered button down shirts that Shane saw in Michael’s closet, he doesn’t even really look like the same man. He’s clean and pressed and his hair is actually styled in whatever shape was the original intention, although the shaved bits are bordering on too long. Without a cart or basket, Michael doesn’t look like he’s shopping, just wandering the aisles with an open can of cola in one hand.

When he catches sight of Shane, he waves, cutting a line towards Shane. Shane looks down into the cart of random shit he’s supposed to be reshelving, sticking his hand into the basket to grab up sardines packed in oil.

“Hey, I was looking for you,” Michael smiles.

“I’m working,” Shane counters.

“I know, that’s why I’m here,” obviously.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you while I’m working.” Shane checks the cart for any additional canned fish products before heading up the aisle. He hopes Michael gets the point and leaves him be.

But Michael just stays in step, taking a sip from his cola can. “I’m a paying customer and all. I just need some assistance, right?”

Shane sighs, “What do you need assistance with?”

Beaming, Michael replies, “You should come over tonight.”

“Do you need help with something here at JojaMart, or no?”

“Nah, not really.”

Shane rolls his eyes, reaching for the box of crackers he knows is wedged somewhere in the cart. “Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“But you’ll come over tonight?”

Groaning, Shane says, “Sure, okay. Yeah,” he hopes the cap he wears for work is enough to shade the flush on his cheeks. It’s nice, in a way, to be wanted.

“Awesome. Uh, we’ll have dinner too, okay? So just come by once you’re ready.”

Shane stands there numbly, a package of saltines clutched between both his hands. “Okay? I get off at four-thirty today. I guess I could be there at five-thirty?”

“Okay, okay great.” Michael holds out his soda can. Shane expects that he wants him to throw it away. “Want any? I’m not used to soda anymore.”

Not really caring for cola either, Shane surprises himself when he reaches for the can, taking a single gulp before handing it back. The cola is still mostly full.

It’s not until well after Michael leaves that Shane realizes how silly it is, and it is silly, that Michael’s lips were on the rim of that can right before his. 

\--

Shane takes the time to shower after work, pulling on clean clothes before looking at himself in the mirror tacked to his bedroom door. There are still deep circles around his eyes. But they’re not really from lack of sleep. Just his blood vessels are dark and the skin around his eyes thin. Nothing he does ever really gets rid of them. 

His hair looks alright. He sort of pushes it around, but that doesn’t change much, looking no better or worse. He reminds himself that he shouldn’t care so much. This isn’t a date or anything. Michael just asked him over for drinks and dinner and…

Oh. Maybe it is a date.

But if it were, Michael would have said something, right? Michael, who has a little bit of trouble shutting up, definitely would have said if this is for sure a date.

Shane isn't certain which option he likes more, that it is or it isn't, or if he's expected to act any different. They barely know each other. Just a couple of evenings drinking together. Then again, a date would be part of the getting-to-know-him process.

“Be cool, Shane,” he talks to his reflection. “It's nothing.”

It's not so hard to admit now that he likes Michael’s company. Though he still can't quite fathom why Michael would enjoy his, not with so many other kind, bright people in town.

By the time he leaves his room, Marnie is already out for the evening. Jas is past the age they worry about leaving her home alone, but Shane doesn't see her on his way out either. Marnie may have dropped her off to play with Vincent while she meets with Willy and Lewis.

Reaching for his sneakers, Shane hesitates. Maybe this is a date. And maybe that's what Michael’s dress shirt and gelled hair was about earlier today. He backtracks to his room. He can't bear to part with his hoodie, but at least he threw it in the wash yesterday, so it smells fresh and clean. But he does have a pair of nicer shoes, still in the box, under his bed. He pulls them out, looks them over, before sitting on the side of the bed to pull them on. Having never worn them before, he doesn't worry about walking to the door in them.

The sky is still bright, the days getting longer as they march closer to summer.

Stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets, Shane hunches his shoulders as he walks up towards the farm. Rolling around in his head is still this idea that this is a date and it's making his thoughts so, so cloudy. 

The path up from Cindersnap Forest to Michael’s door is no better cleared than it was last week, still full of coarse debris, choking the way up to the house. As Shane gets closer, he sees that Michael has at least cleared another two small plots, just outside the sturdy coop. No doubt, he's getting ready for summer planting.

Shane hasn't thought much of it, but the Flower Dance is tomorrow.

Maybe wearing his nice shoes was a mistake, because now he's got to sidestep his way through the dirt, trying to keep them clean. But standing in front of Michael’s door, he's sort of happy that he put in the effort. Even if this isn't a date.

He puts his finger to the bell, hearing Michael call, “Be right there!” from inside.

When Michael opens the door, his hair still in place, dress shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his feet bare, Shane really doesn't care one way or another what this is, he's just sort of happy to be here. 

“Hey, man,” Michael smiles, stepping aside to let Shane in through the doorway. “I hope you don't mind. I sort of...I'm not the greatest cook or anything. So I just threw a pizza in the oven.”

Shane can't help but smile back. Because that sounds great, just great. “It's not a problem.”

“Cool,” Michael pads back to the kitchen. The whole house is warm with the oven on. Warmer than is comfortable this time of year. “Nice shoes.”

Shane looks down at his feet, speechless now.

Without missing a beat, Michael pulls open the door to the fridge, taking out a beer for Shane. His own is already sweating on the countertop.

Michael grabs his beer, leaning against the edge of the counter before taking a swig, his feet slipping slightly against the tile. Shane drinks to avoid saying anything at first, because all the things he's thinking are just so embarrassing. Like the fact they're both overdressed for the temperature, but saying anything about it might be sort of lewd.

So they end up not saying anything at all, Michael only moving when the timer on the oven beeps. Opening up the door, he checks in on the pizza, and must find it to his satisfaction.

While it's still hot, he cuts it into four big slices with a butcher’s knife, tossing the pieces onto two plates that he drags out of the laundry basket. Shane trusts that they're clean, even though the tape gremlin is roughly in the same place where he last saw it. Looks like Michael has been sweeping around the little guy.

“Want to eat outside?” Michael asks, passing off one plate to Shane before grabbing his beer. “Sorry but the table is sort of occupied.” It’s covered in open boxes.

For what it's worth, eating outside sounds kind of great. Shane leads the way, Michael on his heels. They end up sitting cross-legged on the patio, because the steps just won't work when they've got both beers and plates. Michael’s plates have this like, blue flower design all around the edges that Shane can't believe, even staring right at it.

They finish their pizza and Michael takes away the dishes, reappearing a minute later with another set of beers. As soon as he's back on his ass, he starts talking. “You know, Michael is my middle name?”

Shane takes a sip of his beer. He feels young, sitting in the fading light, talking about middle names like they matter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Michael drums his fingers against his leg. “Want to know my first name? No one else in Pelican Town knows.”

Shane doesn't really care. He licks his lips, tasting the salt there. “Yeah?”

“Eshan.”

“Eshan,” Shane repeats.

“Yeah, I mean, I like it alright I guess. But there are like, ten boys named Eshan on my dad’s side of the family, and no Michaels,” he rolls his eyes. “Of course, growing up in the city, there were fifty Michaels and no Eshans. So I could never win.”

“But you like Mike better?”

Michael screws up his face, “Nah, I hate Mike, but I like Michael alright, and I’m used to it now. I guess.”

“So, what? You want me to call you Eshan, now?”

Michael shakes his head, “I guess I just wanted you to know something about me no one else here knows. So, there’s your incentive not to tell anyone else.”

“Okay,” Shane tries to look down the neck of his beer. It’s almost empty.

“I’ll get more?” Michael offers.

“I can get it,” and Shane wonders if that’s too forward, going into Michael’s house without him. But Michael passes over his empty without a word.

Shane tries not to dawdle in Michael’s house. He’s not here to spy or anything. Just get in, get the beers from the fridge, get out. But he can’t help but notice that Michael is really no more settled than he was last time Shane came over. Like he could still vanish into thin air. No sign of him ever being here.

When he opens the fridge, he finds it mostly empty. Just beers, sliced cheese, lunchmeat, store-bought eggs. Before too long, Michael will have his own chickens producing eggs. The thought makes Shane smile. He hopes the chicks are doing well. They’ll still be so small and vulnerable. 

By the time he gets back to the porch, Michael is standing up, leaning slightly over the railing, hips tilted backwards. He takes the beer from Shane’s hand, their fingers brushing against each other. And for a moment, Shane thinks he may have found his voice, but Michael talks too suddenly.

“You should tell me something no one else knows,” it’s a challenge.

Shane scoffs, “There’s not much to know.”

“There has to be something? Come on, it doesn't have to be some deep, dark secret. Just, share something, man.”

“I really do like chickens…” He's not sure it'll be enough to satisfy Michael.

“Okay, but Marnie told me that, so,” he waves his hand, “doesn't count.”

“But, ah, it's because they, just, obviously they don't really worry right? They're chickens and they probably don't worry themselves about being anything other than chickens. But as long as you treat them alright, they're content with their...chicken-ness. And, I don't know, they just seem at peace with the world. I really like them.”

Michael laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Oh shut up. I shouldn't have told you, now you’ll just make fun of me,” Shane frowns. He should have made something else up.

“No! No,” Michael soothes. “I'm not laughing at you. It's just...what you said is really...swe-cool. It's a good way of looking at things. And that's like, the most you've ever said to me at one time.”

Shane reaches up to grab the edges of his hood, but realizes what he's doing before he flips it up over his head. He stops himself, leaving it down.

“What about you, though? Are you at peace with the world?”

Snickering, Shane admits, “Not even close.”

“Me neither,” Michael pauses, “You want to go see them?”

“See who?”

“The chicks, obviously,” Michael pushes himself away from the railing, leaving his beer there before heading down the steps and out to the coop. Shane follows behind, catching up with relative ease so they walk side by side the short distance to the chicken coop. “Robin said I can upgrade it later, if I want to raise ducks too. But I need to get the hang of the chickens first, I think.”

Shane nods, as if he knows one way or another. He hopes that Michael doesn't expect him to be some sort of chicken expert. All he knows is what his aunt taught him during those childhood summers.

Michael is exceedingly cautious opening the door, trying to minimize the noise he makes. It doesn't creak at all, not that it should, Robin is supposed to be an excellent builder.

The only light inside is the warm glow of the heat lamp, and a bit of silvery luminescence from the last dregs of the evening coming in from the high-placed window. Michael slips inside, reaching out to grab Shane’s wrist and pull him in, right behind.

The two chicks are huddled up around the lamp, trying to keep the chill of evening out. The night is still warm, but they’re small. They look peaceful, perfect.

“We shouldn’t disturb them,” Shane whispers. They’re not quite asleep, but they’re holding quite still.

“You’re the expert,” Michael says.

His voice a little too loud, Michael startles on of the chicks. Coming to attention, the little bird looks around, and upon seeing the two of them, peeps, waking her companion too. The chicks start skittering over, fluffy bodies perched on thin legs. They run as fast as they can to Michael and Shane’s feet. Shane hadn’t even noticed that Michael is still barefoot.

Crouching down, Michael scoops up both chicks, laughing at their enthusiasm. If they were in such a hurry to reach him, the chicks must have already bonded with Michael. That’s good, great, even. 

There’s no reason for them to keep quiet anymore, but Michael keeps his voice soft. “Hold out your hands?”

“Why?”

Rolling his eyes, Michael says, “So I can give them to you.”

“But it’s you they want.”

“They’ll want you too. Just you wait.”

Shane grunts, but holds out his cupped hands for Michael to deposit the chicks. They’re soft and warm, fluttering gently in Shane’s palms.

“Before too long, they’ll be too big to hold.”

“Yeah,” Shane agrees.

They stand like that for a while, passing the chicks back and forth, before settling on holding one a piece. Shane runs two of his fingers through the downy feathers, before the bird in his hand protests. They don’t like being separated.

It’s well into night by the time they sneak back out of the coop. Shane’s worried they kept the chicks up too late, but he’s sort of too happy to dwell on it. Michael doesn’t head back up to the house right away, but he swipes his tongue over his lips. 

“The Flower Dance is tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see you there?”

So maybe this wasn’t a date.

“I guess.”

“Great,” Michael punches Shane in the arm, hard enough to feel it, before turning towards the house on his own.

\--

The Flower Dance is mostly an excuse for Shane to sleep in. Joja is closed for the day, though the way his thoughts keep racing, maybe the distraction of working this morning would have done him good. Morris had considered running a full shift, before realizing no one in town was likely to shop on the day of the festival.

Shane lays awake in bed for a solid hour, staring at the ceiling. He can hear Marnie and Jas up and about, eating breakfast, Jas trying on her new dress, Marnie fussing with the little girl’s hair. They leave him alone, and for that he’s grateful. Maybe if it comes time to leave and he still isn’t up, Marnie will knock. But she’s not one to invade his privacy. She’s really too good to him. He hates to think he could ever wear down her hospitality. 

Finally, he works up the energy to swing his feet over the side of the bed. Rubbing his eyes, he finds them still sort of crusty. While he’s looking for his shirt, his stomach grumbles in protest. 

He eats a couple of slices of warmed toast with fresh churned butter while Marnie finishes fixing flowers in Jas’ hair. They’re silk, so that they won’t wilt or tear during the long day. While she works, weaving the bendy wire stems, she asks if Shane had a good time last night.

“Yeah,” he hadn’t gotten back until well after Marnie arrived home from the saloon. “It was fine.”

Marnie doesn’t push him for more information, leaning over to plant a kiss on the top of his head, as if he were no older than Jas, before heading off to her room to get ready.

Shane washes his plate and the cups already in the sink, before heading to shower. In the past, he’s liked the Flower Dance just fine. It’s bright and pretty and the snacks are always great. Everyone is so enamored with everyone else, he doesn’t have to socialize too much, but sometimes he does like the wash of chatter running over him, providing he’s not expected to participate. 

Keeping the water cool, he showers efficiently, scrubbing down and rinsing. He thinks about how long it will take to dry his hair. He thinks about kissing Michael, and how silly it is to even think about. They hung out, as friends, then Shane went home. Besides, they’re adults. In three years, Shane will be thirty. So it’s definitely pathetic to worry too much about someone he’ll never kiss. It’s better not to think.

\-- 

When Michael sees Shane, he waves him over, a paper plate in one hand and a cup of punch that’s wedged between his feet to make sure it stays upright in the soft grass. He’s chewing on something that fills out his cheek like an overstuffed chipmunk. As Shane walks over, he watches Michael swallow it.

“Hey, I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bending over, Michael grabs his cup to take a drink, before handing it over to Shane to try. “It’s kind of sweet for my tastes, but I guess it’s not bad?”

Without hesitation, Shane sips from the cup. He’s already got a pretty good idea of what it’ll taste like, familiar with communal punch bowls. It’s meant to be shared by the children too, so there isn’t even a hint of liquor. 

“I like it alright.”

Michael shrugs, taking the cup back from Shane’s hand and drinking from it. They pass it back and forth like that until it runs dry.

Michael looks, well, he looks good. The bottoms of his jeans are starting to fray, and his dress shirt is open at the collar, exposing the tee underneath. His shoes are remarkably similar to the ones Shane wore last night, but today, Shane is in his sneakers. Didn’t see the point of dressing up. 

They dump their plates in the garbage and head back to get more punch. Shane figures it would be weird for them to keep sharing the one cup, so he takes one of his own off the pyramid. Michael fills his own cup first, before handing it to Shane, then takes the one from Shane to fill. They end up with swapped cups and something about that is too painfully intimate for Shane to articulate. They’ve only known each other a few weeks.

“The dance is soon, right?” Michael asks. In the bright sunlight, his eyes look a warmer brown than normal.

“Yeah,” the crowd has cleared from around the food tables, the residents of the town gathering in the meadow, either to dance or to watch.

“Aren’t you going to…” Michael gestures towards the dancers with his cup.

“No?”

Michael takes his eyes off the gathered dancers to look back at Shane, “I thought, I mean…”

“What?”

“I thought maybe you were single,” Michael’s attention goes back to the dancers. 

Shane’s mouth is dry and the punch doesn’t help one fucking bit, sticking cloyingly at the back of his throat. “I’m not, I mean, yeah, I’m not with someone, but I’m not dancing either.”

Eyes still straight ahead, Michael asks, “Not even with me?”

There’s a beat of silence, long-drawn and heavy, before Michael laughs, putting his cup to his lips, hiding his mouth.

“So, you’re going to dance?” Shane tries to focus on the dancers too, lining up. The numbers are already even.

“No, of course not,” Michael scoffs. “Hey, come on, follow me.”

“We’re going to miss the dancing.”

“We’ll be back.”

They end up ducking just far enough behind a bush to cover their legs and waists. Michael reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a silver flask. Uncapping it with one hand, he mouths, “Vodka?” and waits for Shane to nod before pouring some into Shane’s cup. He tops up his own as well before putting the flask away.

The dance has already started by the time they get back in place to watch. Standing close enough for there shoulders to touch, Shane enjoys the bite of the punch and the warmth of Michael standing beside him. 

Couples pair off, the girls’ white skirts twirling as they spin around, taking their partners’ hands right on cue. It’s all constructed to look natural, effortless. They wear big smiles and seem to laugh with each step. And for half a second, Shane wonders what would have happened had he said yes. But that moment has already passed.

As the exhibition dance finishes, other couples join the fray, holding onto each other as they sway more casually to the music. Their steps are unchoreographed, imprecise, even though some of them danced for the town in their youth as well. 

Michael’s fingers graze against the back of Shane’s hand, ghosting over skin. “You sure about dancing?” his voice is barely above a whisper. 

Looking out on the dancers, happy couples perfectly paired off, Shane can’t offer another answer, “Yeah, no. I’m not going to.” He waits, “You could, though.”

Michael shakes his head, “Not interested.”


	3. Summer I

Shane is on his way home from work when Michael catches him crossing town. Spring has turned to Summer and Michael’s hands are speckled with dirt, his pant legs nearly caked with it, cracking where the fabric bends. There are sweat stains at his armpits and his dark hair lays flat on top his head. 

Shane is sure he smells of ozone off the JojaMart air conditioner and vaguely of dusty, shredded cardboard. He's been working since eight am.

“Hey! Headed to the saloon?” Michael asks, half jogging to fall in step with Shane. 

“Thinking about it.”

“Well,” Michael beams, “think no more.”

Shane wrinkles his nose, “I want to change first.” Looking Michael up and down, he suggests, “You should too. And maybe a shower.”

Michael looks down at his dirtied hands before admitting, “I guess so.” 

They have to part ways to head towards their respective homes, but Shane almost wishes it were different. He wishes they could walk the same path, though Shane’s not exactly sure where it would lead.

They agree to meet back up in forty or so minutes. Whoever gets to the Stardrop first will grab a table and the first round. Michael punches Shane’s arm before peeling off towards the farm.

Marnie is still puttering around the shop when Shane gets in. Jas sits at the kitchen table, struggling with the homework Penny has assigned. While she scribbles on the paper, she swings her feet back and forth, knocking into the lower rungs of the chair.

“Good day at work, Shane?” Marnie asks, as she's finishing sweeping the front room.

Shane grunts in reply. Marnie says that's good, her cheerfulness never wavering. At least, not in front of Shane. He feels sort of guilty about it, that maybe she's not being truthful about her own hopes and fears, because she wants to see him happy. 

Heading straight for the shower, Shane strips out of his uniform, tossing his clothes in the hamper. He steps under the spray, letting water get into his eyes. Almost immediately, he regrets getting his hair wet, because he won't really have time to dry it.

But the water feels good against his skin, more stimulation than he's had all day as he scrubs down. Grabbing at his arms, his hips, his stomach, he assesses himself the best he can. He's either too soft or too thin and he's not entirely sure how he can be both at the same time, but somehow, here he is.

Resting his forehead against the tile, he tries to make his erection go away. Because now really isn't the time. He's supposed to be meeting Michael, but thinking about that isn't helping either, because when they parted, only minutes ago, Michael’s cruddy tee was pulled too tight across his chest. 

Fuck.

Another couple minutes and he manages to collect himself, turning off the water.

\--

Michael has already commandeered a table by the time Shane makes it to the saloon. While he's managed to style his hair somewhat, and his clothes are clean, he's still just dressed in a tshirt and jeans. Too hot, really, for anything else.

Even Shane left his sweatshirt behind, though he misses the wrap of the sleeves around his arms. His skin is kinda pale and blotchy. Maybe he spends too much time inside.

“Hey, you better get started on that beer before it gets warm, I know you hate that.”

Shane plops down on the chair across from Michael. He's right, Shane does hate that, even if he has been drinking a warm beer or two in his room, on occasion.

“I hope you don't mind,” Michael leans over the table top, pressing his chest to the surface, “I ordered us a pizza, I'm fucking starving.”

Shane hadn't even thought about food, but he's thankful Michael has.

Emily stops by the table with their pizza once it comes out of the oven. When their beers are empty, Shane gets up to grab another round before Michael can, keenly aware of how much more money Michael spends when they're out, and how Michael keeps having him over to the farm, and Shane still doesn't feel comfortable making the same offer in return. He doesn't want to impose on Marnie. But it's also not fair that Michael keeps shouldering the responsibility.

For their not-dates.

At the Flower Dance, Shane had been so sure there was something more between them. But since then? They still spend time together, but Michael has backed off a bit. Maybe that's Shane’s fault, though, because he wouldn't dance. But it just seemed so...public. He didn't want everyone watching, questioning why Michael, who wouldn't dance with any of the available bachelors or bachelorettes, was stepping into the meadow with Shane.

Shane passes Michael his beer, returning to his seat. They've already destroyed the pizza, splitting it roughly in half.

“I got your letter,” Michael comments, rolling the fresh, cold bottle between his warm hands, “you could have just walked over?”

Realizing Michael means the recipe that Shane sent yesterday, Shane flushes. Maybe he can blame it on the beer. “Was too tired after work. Figured mail would be faster.”

Michael nods like Shane has said something sage. “It’ll be another couple weeks until the peppers are ready. But you better not be too tired to help me, once they are.”

“Huh?”

“The recipe,” Michael emphasizes, “you better not be too tired to help me cook.”

“Who said anything about me cooking?”

“Oh come on, you're the one who sent it!” Michael’s getting loud and doesn't even really know it.

Shane scowls, “I just thought you would like it.” He pushes at the leftover pizza crust a couple times, before grabbing it and shoving it in his mouth. It's gone cold, but there's still a crispness to it. Gus makes the pizzas real thin.

Laughing, Michael lets the subject drop. “You want another?” He holds up his bottle, “or you want to get out of here?”

That might be an invitation.

“Yeah, I'm done.”

Emily waves at them with near-frantic excitement as they leave the saloon. It's not quite dark, since they're approaching the Equinox. Without his hoodie, Shane is left with sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Michael stays close as they walk nowhere in particular. At least, Shane has no idea where they're going. Their shoulders bump into each other as they weave their haphazard path. Once he's well and truly certain that Michael has no destination in mind, Shane takes the lead, walking them out of the town and towards the forest. He has an idea.

“Oh,” Michael comments, “yeah, I guess you're probably tired? Want to go home? Don't let me keep you.” He licks over his lips.

From the way he looked earlier, dirtied hands and clothes, Michael worked his crops all day. He might be tired too. But that's not why Shane took them towards the forest. Though, he wants to ask why Michael isn't taking him home. That would be too presumptuous.

“I just want to stop by the ranch, come on. I'm not that tired, if you're not?”

“No.”

He hesitates at the door, wondering if he should invite Michael inside. Of course, he's been inside before, when the shop is open, to order supplies from Marnie. “Ah, follow me,” grabbing Michael’s wrist, he pulls the other man inside. He doesn't stop in the foyer, even though Marnie has already swept and they should probably take off their shoes. But if he stops now, he’ll lose his nerve. He drags Michael all the way to his bedroom, but leaves the door open. “Gimme a sec.” He has to drop Michael’s wrist to look for his backpack. It should be stuffed in the closet somewhere.

Shane tries not to think too much about having Michael in his bedroom, looking at his things, judging how he's made it to this point in his life, living in this small space in his aunt’s ranch.

Finding the backpack, he has to crouch down to reach the four beers he has hidden under the bed. He grabs them and shoves them in his pack, so they can carry them out to their final destination.

With that settled, Shane finally has to face Michael again. His lips slightly parted, Michael has clearly been scanning the room. Shane knows it's not much. “You ready?” He tries to draw Michael’s attention back.

“Yeah, where we headed?”

“You’ll see,” Shane wants to grab Michael’s hand again, but he doesn't allow himself the pleasure. Before leaving, he snatches his hoodie off the bed and pulls it on. With the sun set, it’ll be cool enough to want it.

He locks up the front door after Michael steps outside. They're heading for the little pier on the lake. It's one of Shane’s favorite spots. He might not own it, not like Michael owns the farm, but at least it's something he can share.

Michael doesn't question him. Doesn't breathe a word the whole way. Shane is thankful for that, otherwise, he might lose his momentum.

“Welcome to my office,” Shane jokes, flopping down on the edge of the pier. He lets his feet dangle off the edge, there's another four inches until his feet would hit water. In the spring and fall, sometimes, when it pours, the water level is higher, but it never quite reaches his feet.

Michael sits beside him, but stays crosslegged, his knee bumping into Shane’s thigh. “I like it,” he comments.

Going into his backpack, Shane pulls out a warm beer, handing the first one to Michael and keeping the second for himself. Tastes like shit warm, but he got the cheap stuff, so it's not much better cold.

They sit like that, looking out over the water. Shane can hear Michael breathing beside him, in and out, in and out. It's almost perfect. And Shane has every intention of ruining it.

“Michael?”

“Hm?”

Shane takes a deep breath. He wants to do this. He wants to ask. Because there's no one here, no one anywhere, he feels is a better choice. Even if this drives Michael away, if Shane doesn't speak, he's going to burst...or shrivel. Something.

“Do you ever feel like...no matter what you do, you're gonna fail?” He keeps his gaze focused on the silvery light skipping across the water. Because if he sees pity in Michael’s eyes, he's not sure he can bear it. He wants to talk, but he doesn't want Michael to think him pathetic. 

“Like...you're stuck in some miserable abyss and you're so deep you can't see the light of day?”

“Shane…”

It feels good now, to speak. Liberating. “I just feel like no matter how hard I try...I'm not strong enough to climb out of that hole.”

Shane feels Michael’s arm drape over his shoulder, they pull close together. But neither of them move before Michael brings his can back to his lips, finishing what's left in a couple of gulps. 

“You shouldn't make this a habit,” Shane can't help but turn his head into Michael’s shoulder. His chest is warm, smells slightly spicy, cologne or something. And the weight of Michael’s arm around his shoulders is grounding.

“Make what a habit?” Michael’s chest vibrates as he speaks.

“Wasting your time with me, drinking so much, just because I do. You have a bright future ahead of you.”

Michael’s laugh almost throws Shane off. “I thought we were having a good time. Just...I guess I didn't realize you were so unhappy.”

Shane doesn't know how to explain any better than he already has. Because he's not unhappy spending time with Michael, just the opposite. But it's momentary, fleeting. Then the next day, he's looking up from the bottom of the well again. Facing work and expectations of another day. And Shane isn't young enough, or dumb enough, to expect Michael to throw him a rope. 

“Yeah.”

“I should walk you home,” Michael says.

Shane can feel Michael’s fingers running through his hair.

Once they're in front of the ranch door, Michael seems to have come up with something to say. Shane has already fitted his key into the lock.

“I know how you feel. At least part of it. Like I've been set up for failure. I feel like that all the time. But the second part...I don't know. I don't know, Shane.”

In that moment, Shane wishes one of them were braver. 

He's quiet closing the door behind him, as to not disturb Marnie and Jas.

\--

Marnie hands Shane the bundle of soft, fresh goat’s cheese to carry to the Luau. Each resident is tasked with bringing an ingredient to add to the great, big cauldron that is parked in the center of the beach each year. Shane feels like maybe he's expected to bring his own ingredient, he's old enough to contribute and all, but Marnie insists that one per household is plenty.

He's looking forward to the festival. He can't remember a single year the soup wasn't good, even though all manner of things get thrown in, the flavors all even out in the end. Imagining the gentle bite of the goat cheese already has his mouth watering.

Jas runs up ahead, two garlands of plastic flowers strung around her neck. As she trips forward, her bow falls right off of her head. Shane bends down to grab it as he follows behind.

The beach is already crowded by the time they arrive, Pelican Town residents fanned out across the sand. A few more are standing, salivating, over the bubbling pot. Marnie likes to be in charge of the cooking, but Emily has been keeping watch until she arrives.

Shane doesn't deviate, walking straight to the step stool to fold the cheese into the warmed broth. Emily goes to work, breaking up the mass of curds so it'll distribute evenly as it heats. With a wink, she tells him Michael is down by the water.

Sticking his hands into the pockets of his board shorts, Shane ambles down to the waterfront. He does stop, briefly, to say hello to Maru and Penny, who halt their quiet discussion to wave to him. 

As he gets closer, he realizes Michael is shirtless, his feet in the water while he talks to Leah. Her hair is tied up high to keep it off her face and neck. The water comes up to their shins with the waves. Michael smiles brightly at something Leah says. She shoves at his shoulder, darker, more golden, now that he’s tanned.

When Michael sees Shane approaching, he waves with a bigger gesture than he really needs. Shane makes it to the edge of the tide. His shoes are still on.

“You should come in,” Michael encourages.

Next to him, Leah nods, echoing, “Yes!”

“I don't know,” Shane shrugs his shoulders, kicking at the sand.

“Please?” And honest to fuck, Michael bats his eyelashes at him, dark and long and naturally curled.

Shane must be a sucker, because it works. Bending over, Shane unlaces his sneakers, kicking them away from the waterline. He's strangely unconcerned with Leah being there too. She's just having a grand time, letting the waves crash against her legs.

He almost expects Michael to tease him about leaving on his shirt, but Shane honestly feels better covered up. After a season of working on the farm and whatever kind of obvious regime Michael had before, Shane knows he won't hold a damn candle. He's pale and soft and when he breathes too deeply his ribs are visible. Not an attractive combination.

The water is cool around his legs, evaporating quickly as is splashes, leaving a sheen of salt on his skin. The rhythm of it does feel good, great. He listens to Leah and Michael talk about nothing in particular. How Michael’s crops are coming in, how Leah’s sculptures are progressing. No one makes Shane join the conversation.

Leah catches sight of Elliot, excusing herself to go say hello. That just leaves Michael and Shane alone in the sea.

“What did you bring for the soup?” Michael asks him.

“Marnie made goat cheese.” He can feel the individual grains of sand between his toes. “What about you?”

“Just a red cabbage from the farm. I don't know, it looked really pretty, thought it might add color.”

Shane doesn't really know one way or the other. “Yeah.”

“Hey, does this thing about the Governor liking it or whatever, does it actually matter?”

“Local pride, I guess.” 

“Yeah...anyway, I guess we should get back. Looks like he's about to try it?”

Shane wishes they had a few more minutes before joining the others, but he doesn't have a valid reason to stay in the water. They make their way to the shore, Shane grabbing his shoes. He has no idea where Michael left his. Or where his shirt ran off to.

Luckily, for Shane’s blood pressure, Michael does locate his shirt, pulling it on over his head. He doesn't bother with his shoes. Where the fuck are they? Putting on his shirt causes his hair to fly everywhere. Michael tries to pat it down. At least now, Shane doesn't have to try so hard to keep from staring.

The Governor announces the soup as the very best he's ever had. Lewis is absolutely delighted, calling for a round of applause for the town itself. They've all done marvelously.

When he finally gets a chance to taste the soup, Shane has to admit he agrees. It's sharp and creamy, and Michael was right, with the red cabbage, the color is divine too. Shane empties his bowl, but before he can blink, Michael has snatched it away, going back for seconds. 

After he's done ladling out two bowls, Emily pulls Michael aside, asking him something out of Shane’s earshot. In response, Michael shakes his head, then excuses himself to return to Shane.

Shane has never seen Michael so flushed before. Peachy-pinkness blooming over the bridge of his nose and across cheeks. Shane can't help but ask, “What was that about?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Michael hands Shane his bowl. “Emily just had the wrong idea.”

Shane has to admit, he has no fucking clue what the ‘right idea’ is.

\--

Michael’s peppers are ripe. Shane is honor bound to help him make the recipe he sent at the beginning of summer. 

Only stopping at the ranch long enough to change out of his uniform, Shane is at Michael’s door by five-thirty. His palms are already sweating.

Michael opens the door with his usual smile, telling Shane he should make himself comfortable. Shane realizes this is the first time they're actually staying inside the farmhouse for more than ten minutes.

The boxes that littered the living space and kitchen look to be finally unpacked, though Michael still doesn't have much in the way of decoration. There's a sturdy wooden crate in the corner formerly occupied by the tape-gremlin, filled to the brim with colorful minerals.

“I didn't know you had been visiting the mine?” Shane asks.

“Yeah,” Michael throws open the fridge, pulling out two beers. “When the weather is bad or whatever. I'm not much for it though. But I need the stone.” He pops open both cans, handing off one beer to Shane.

“You're not selling them?”

“Nah,” Michael says, “I kind of like how they look. I don't know. I might do something with them later.” He pauses, “come on, let's cook.”

There's a basket of freshly picked, bright red peppers sitting on the countertop. Michael asks Shane to wash them, he’ll slice. They work together, Shane passing the peppers to Michael until the basket runs empty.

“I guess we need the cheese? And breadcrumbs?” Michael asks, still slicing the peppers in two. “Oh, and turn on the oven? Ah, four-hundred I think? My hands are...spicy.”

Shane snickers, fiddling with the oven until he reaches four-hundred. Turning to the fridge, he's relieved there's more than just the cheese and beer inside. It looks like Michael has actually started stocking food at home. “Are these eggs from the girls?”

“Yeah,” Michael finishes chopping and sticks the peppers on a baking tray. “You should see them, after dinner.”

“I'd like that.”

They measure out the cheese into enough portions to stuff the peppers. Somewhere along the line, they get the distribution wrong and end up with one dangerously over-full pepper. Michael calls that one special, refusing to redistribute the cheese. Shane has the honor of sprinkling breadcrumbs over the top. When he's finished, he slides in next to Michael to wash his hands in the already-running sink.

Unable to leave the oven unattended, they take their beers to Michael's ‘couch,’ which really isn't big enough for two full grown men. Shane starts to complain, but Michael counters that he wasn't expecting this.

“Expecting what?”

“To have a friend like you.”

Shane rolls his eyes, “Everyone in Pelican Town loves you. You know that right?” Michael is popular to the point of absurdity, even if he's not frequently in town. “No doubt you had dozens of friends in the city.”

“I knew a lot of people, maybe,” Michael sticks his finger in his mouth, chewing at the nail, but not ripping it off. “But not like, people I could relax with? Everything was a competition with them. Everything. Where you did your undergrad, what car you drove, did your building have a doorman? It was non-stop. Always trying to one-up each other.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah...that's why I...sort of freaked out. I was really close to finishing my MBA. Could have gotten a better car, a building with two doormen, shit, something.” He shakes his head, smiling, “I was really close to being done. But then it was as if...I saw my future. The kind of person I was becoming. And even though I was good at it, I didn't like it. My hair was falling out, and fuck. I was the worst, okay? I was really good at it, and that made me the worst.”

“So you quit?”

“I was asked to leave when I threw a desk through a window,” Michael laughs. “No one was hurt. And before the damn thing even left my hands I knew I had fucked up.”

The oven beeps. 

“I should check on that.”

Shane stays on the couch, clutching his beer. He can't even picture Michael filled with that sort of frustration, rage. But maybe the change of scenery has agreed with him. Obviously it has.

Michael comes back with two plates. “Want to grab fresh beers? We could eat at the table, but.”

“I'll meet you on the porch.”


	4. Summer II

Shane digs his camera out from the box he shoved in the closet, almost two years ago now, when he first came to Stardew Valley. There have been about a four new models since then, with better video fidelity and higher pixel images. But he doesn't have the time to replace this one. Besides, he first needs to prove to himself he can do this.

The flyer on the bulletin board at work said that the winner of the contest gets 10,000g. He's already told himself, whether or not he wins, if he can finish his entry, he’ll take some of his savings for a new camera, so he can keep working. The money would be nice, but it’s not really his objective here.

Clint and Emily both agree to be in his video. Shane would have asked Michael, but he's not sure he could stomach watching him in the scene he has in mind. But Emily has been really friendly with Shane as of late, asking after him, and it was her suggestion that Clint could star opposite her.

They're meeting in the town square to film, providing the weather holds. So far, the day looks warm and bright, hardly a cloud in the sky. Shane’s sure the lighting will be fine. 

Emily waves at Shane as he approaches, the camera tucked under his arm. The sooner they get the filming done, the better. It will give Shane more time to edit the shots together on his computer.

“Hey guys,” Shane smiles, “thanks for helping. Did you learn your lines?”

Emily is all bright cheerfulness, “Yes! I'm so excited, thanks for asking me to help.” 

Next to her, Clint mumbles affirmations as well.

“Okay, well, I want to get some scenery shots first, then we’ll do a couple takes of the script, then I might want a couple shots from other angles. We’ll see how it goes.”

Emily mock salutes. She pulls Clint into place in front of her, getting the shot lined up. “Are you nervous, Clint?” she asks.

The blush on Clint’s cheeks is visible for miles. “No, ah, I'm fine.”

For the time being, Shane leaves them be, getting a couple of panning shots of the town, a few close ups of summer flowers in showy bloom. He can cut in these insert shots later, if he needs them. Better to have too much footage than too little.

By the time he comes back around to Clint and Emily, Clint is even redder than before. It'll for sure show up on camera, but Shane is lucky enough to get the two ‘actors’ to agree, so he doesn't push his luck and doesn’t suggest that maybe they need to powder down Clint to hide the flush.

The script he's come up with isn't the most sincere thing he's ever written, but hey, it's a commercial. And as much as he dislikes having to work at JojaMart, this is a good opportunity for someone to see his work. When he was in school, his professors thought he showed promise. But he's got to actually put something together to prove it.

“Okay, and...action!” He starts the recording.

“I thought we had something special...I guess I was wrong,” Emily frowns deeply, really selling the scene. Sure, it might be a little ham-handed, but that's kind of the way the script goes anyway. That's the joke.

“I….uhhh….uhhh,” Clint flubs his line.

Shaking his head, Shane calls, “Cut!” It's only then that he sees Michael, standing over by the side of the road, shaded by a nearby maple tree.

“Oh! Michael, hi.”

“Hi, Mi~chael,” Emily sing-songs.

Waving, Michael starts heading over to the group.

“I'm sorry,” Clint apologizes, “It's hard to remember my lines when her face is right in front of me like that.”

Shane, Michael, and Emily all turn to stare at Clint, his face staying bright red. Okay then...right.

“What are you up to?” Michael asks, breaking the tension.

“Joja Co is having a video advertisement competition. I'm entering. Emily and Clint are helping me out.”

Michael is just ecstatic at the idea, “That’s great. Really-really great. Will you show me? When you're done, I mean.” He's completely sincere. 

“Yeah, of course,” Shane promises. “Hey, you want to be in it? You could walk in the background of this scene, it would add to the authenticity.”

Michael checks himself over, running his fingers through his hair. He's mostly clean today. “Yeah, that would be awesome. Just let me know if I'm doing it wrong.”

“It's just walking, Michael, it's hard to get wrong.”

“But you'd tell me, right? If I were wrong?” He looks so earnest, Shane isn't quite sure how to respond.

“Of course.”

On the next take, Emily and Clint nail all their lines, even though Clint still looks like a tomato. Emily’s performance is a bit stronger than Clint’s, but he speaks loudly and clearly, so Shane can work with that. Michael fills his role just fine; it is hard to fuck up. After the finished take, Shane reshoots pieces of the dialogue from a couple different angles, giving Clint and Emily instructions as he goes. 

Before too long, Clint starts looking a little blue in the face, instead of red, too many swigs of Joja Bluu. Shane feels kinda guilty for making him drink so much of it. Should've emptied the can and filled it with water.

He thanks Emily and Clint for helping him with the ad. Before she leaves, Emily hugs him tight, coming up on her toes to throw her arms around his shoulders. It's weird, but not entirely unwelcome. 

Michael is still waiting, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. “Where's my heartfelt congratulations on a job well done?” He teases.

Shane chirps, “You did a perfectly adequate job of walking in the background.”

They both laugh.

In the distance, they hear Clint being sick into a hedge. Well, shit, they should probably go help.

\--

When Shane sits down for breakfast, Marnie lets him know he has a letter. That's strange. No one has ever written him at the ranch. His ma calls him sometimes, but it's never a letter. And he didn't have much in terms of friends by the time he left the city, having either ignored or outright insulted everyone.

In between bites of toast with fresh blueberry jam, he tears open the envelope. It doesn't say anything on the outside other than “Shane,” which means someone dropped it in Marnie’s box personally. So he's not that surprised that it's from Michael, beyond the general surprise of receiving a letter at all.

Michael’s handwriting is neat and fine, all sharp, printed corners. The letter is short, just saying that he's looking forward to the festival tomorrow, which means Michael dropped the letter off sometime last night. It seems a really silly thing to bother with. Shane, like everyone else in the Valley, attends all the festivals diligently, even if sometimes finding the energy is hard.

Once he's done reading, Shane folds the letter, sticking it back in the envelope. He finishes eating his toast before starting on the scrambled eggs. 

Marnie says she's going out to tend to the animals. There's more coffee in the pot if Shane needs, just make sure he leaves a cup for her when she gets back. Finishing off his breakfast, Shane moves to do the dishes, slotting them in the drying rack once he's done.

It's been a long time since he's helped Marnie with the animals. She never asks and normally he's too exhausted from work to offer. But today he pulls on his shoes, heading outside.

When Shane reaches the barn, Marnie asks him if everything is alright? 

“Yeah, I just thought I would help.”

“You know you don't have to.” She reaches up to pat his cheek.

“I want to,” Shane assures her.

Marnie smiles, “Why don't you check on everyone’s food and water. And I'll get to the sweeping up.”

She's given him the easier task, but he doesn't argue, going to the cows first to check what they need. Shane spends the morning carting hay from the silo to the troughs for the cows and sheep. Seed for the chickens and ducks. Specialized feed for the rabbits and pigs. He makes sure to run his hands over each animal, letting them know they're loved and cared for. He shouldn't, but he spends extra time with the chickens.

Filling everyone’s water takes more strength than he expects. The jugs are heavy. He wonders how Marnie fares every day. She's not a large woman by any means, stout and hearty, but not big. 

Before they head for lunch, Marnie throws open the barn doors to let the animals outside for the afternoon. Some of them will forage more, but it's always best they have easy access to feed inside.

They head back into the house to eat. Shane feels sore all over from lifting and dragging. Marnie’s maybe right that he can't help much after he’s already taken a shift at work. His job duties are basically the same at JojaMart. Lifting and stacking and shelving, but without the benefit of looking into the big doe eyes of the cows or running his fingers over the silky feathers of the chickens. He's so glad he was able to help today, though.

Jas exclaims that she made lunch, which consists of uneven pb&j sandwiches, too sloppy-wet with jam, and the entire milk jug sitting out on the table. She explains that she couldn't reach the glasses. Shane reaches up to get three, handing them down to Jas so she can finish setting the table to her satisfaction.

The sandwiches won't be enough, at least for Shane, but the three of them eat lunch together. Marnie compliments Jas on her culinary skill.

Shane makes a second sandwich while Marnie washes up. He tries to figure out if he's happy or not, but in the end decides just to enjoy the moment.

\--

The glow of the buoyant candles is visible from the moment Shane steps onto the beach, soft illumination rocking with the tide. They’ll draw the jellies to the pier before they depart for warmer waters.

Shane wears his hood up, shading his face. But he's pushes his sleeves up to the elbows, too warm otherwise. His sneakers sink softly in the dry sand as he walks towards the docks. He can hear soft chatter all around him, the residents keeping their voices quiet, preserving the peacefulness of evening.

On his way to the sea, Shane doesn't talk to anyone. After lunch, he'd taken a nap, woken up cloudy. His feet don't feel really like his own. He shouldn't have slept.

Sand gives way to the wooden pier, his shoes sounding hard against the planks, he lightens his steps.

All the best viewing positions are taken, so Shane fits in where he can, trying to keep his distance from everyone else. He watches the candles bob in the water, nearly knocking into the wooden beams keeping the pier elevated.

He feels a hand brush against his back, low and fleeting. Starting slightly in surprise, he relaxes when he realizes there is only one person it could possibly be.

“Hey,” Michael says, coming to stand beside Shane. He drops his hand from Shane’s back, letting it hang loosely at his side.

Shane replies, “Hey.”

“The candles are really pretty,” Michael’s voice is soft. “They remind me of home.”

“Of the city?” Shane remembers the twinkling lights of the high rise buildings. He doesn't think the comparison is fair.

“No, like, my dad’s home. I don't know, weird praising. He always calls it ‘home,’ though he's been here fucking forever.”

Shane grunts, having little to contribute.

“So they’ll come right up to the dock?”

Shane nods, “All at once, hundreds of them.”

“Cool.”

Michael’s fingers brush against the back of Shane’s hand. One of them has to learn to be brave, because this knot in Shane’s chest is going to strangle him. He flexes his hand, letting his fingers tangle with Michael’s as he starts to relax. There’s a faint squeeze in return. Shane wants to scream.

But he doesn't. The night is too quiet to disturb. As the jellies float towards the shore, their luminescence blots out the inferior light of the floating candles. So bright, it lights up the toes of their shoes, shadows creeping up their legs.

Shane looks at Michael only briefly. Michael’s attention is on the water, his mouth shaped in a gentle ‘o.’ Tonight, they need to be brave. Shane looks back out at the jellies, their membranes spreading and contracting for propulsion. They twirl in the water, spinning beneath the surface, otherworldly, stars beneath the tides. Shane wishes he were more eloquent. But he's unconvinced anyone has the words for this moment.

They wait for the jellies to depart, watching the blanket of light float away. It takes a long time for the brightness to fully fade. Shane knows he can't hold his breath that long, but it feels like it, his lungs burning by the time other people start leaving.

But Michael doesn't move. Shane doesn't move.

“That was really beautiful,” Michael says, his eyes still on the ocean.

“Yeah...it was.”

“...Has everyone else left?”

Shane looks from side to side, then behind him, but sees no sign of anyone. Even Willy must be inside, and his lights are off. How long have they been standing here? Shane wiggles his toes in his shoes.

“Yeah,” Shane says.

“Okay,” Michael sighs. “Because...if I look at you right now...I'm going to want to kiss you…is that okay?”

Their lips haven't even touched and Shane feels his heart pounding through his chest, threatening to break through.

“Okay, yes.” Shane turns at the same time Michael does, their noses grazing against each other. Michael’s hands snake inside Shane's hood, pushing it down until it falls against Shane’s back. He keeps his hands there, cradling Shane’s neck, rubbing his fingers at the back of Shane’s hair, as their mouths come together.

Shane takes his hand to Michael’s neck. He swears he can feel Michael’s pulse, pounding loud enough to drown out the sound of the sea. Michael’s lips are soft against his, his mouth open and wet. With his other hand, Shane grabs the front of Michael’s tee, twisting into a fist. 

Fuck, fuck, this is it.

They share air and affection for as long as they can, their bodies pressed close together. One of Michael’s hands drops from Shane’s neck to his waist. Being the same height means neither one of them have so strain, but eventually they need to breathe. They separate just an inch. Before either of them says anything, Michael comes back in for another peck, short and sweet and chaste.

“Fuck, Shane, I've wanted...for so long.”

“Then why didn't you?”

Michael laughs, “I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure even tonight, but,” Shane can feel Michael’s hands shaking with adrenaline. “I had to try, right? Even if I was setting myself up for failure. I had to know.”

Shane swallows thickly. “Yeah, me too.”

They kiss again, with less hesitancy this time, because, not only do they know that they both want this, they know they’ll want it again, and again. Michael drops his hands around Shane’s hips, holding their bodies close together. Shane has no idea what to do with his hands, so he tangles them in Michael’s hair.

He feels too warm all over, even with the sun long gone and Summer starting to fade. Tomorrow will be the start of Fall. 

Michael pulls back, licking along his lips, “Come home with me?”

Shane’s eyes go wide. Before he can say anything, Michael tries to cover up what he's suggesting. “I don't mean...we don't have to rush. I mean, we've, I've, waited a long time already. Just. It's getting late is all. Maybe we could just, move indoors? Fuck,” Michael laughs. “I promise, your honor will remain intact. If that’s what you want?”

Shane rolls his eyes. It's not about ‘honor’ or being proper or whatever. Because fuck that. But it does ease Shane’s nerves that Michael isn't expecting sex. It's been awhile and Shane just doesn't want to embarrass himself on day one of...whatever this is. Maybe the best thing to do would be to just go home to the ranch. Because he doesn't want to ruin the stunning clarity of this moment with a misstep or mistake. But Shane just can't bring himself to put that much distance between them.

“Okay.”

They hold hands as they make their way back to Michael’s farm. What starts as a crisply paced walk grinds to a halt, as Michael spins Shane around, pinning him against the lamppost outside the Stardrop and kissing him senseless. “You know what I was thinking about, that first time I talked to you in the bar?”

“What?” Shane asks. Honestly, he has no idea.

“That’s him, that's why I ended up here. He's who I was supposed to find.”

Shane laughs at that, throwing his head back and exposing his throat. “That's so weird. You're lying?”

“No, I'm not. Maybe I'm just a really sappy romantic. Ever consider that?”

“No, not for a second.”

Michael smiles, grabbing Shane’s hand again. And they're off, racing towards the farm, not even bothering to act casual. At a full sprint, there would be no way Shane could keep up with Michael, who runs in a really effortless way. But Michael refuses to let go of Shane, so he slows down so they stick together.

Shane finds his back to Michael’s front door, pinned in place while Michael fishes his keys out of his jeans. From the heat building between their bodies, Shane has a moment of doubt that this isn't ending in sex. But he trusts Michael to listen.

“Fuck,” Michael curses, trying to get his key fitted into the lock. His chest presses into Shane’s, solid and warm.

When the door finally swings open, they stumble inside together, making their way to Michael’s couch. They don't even bother with their shoes.

They end up with Michael’s back against the sofa, Shane prone on top of him, legs tangled together. Shane can feel Michael’s erection through his jeans, pressing into his upper thigh. But Michael stays true to his word, cupping Shane’s face and kissing him, over and over, but not straying any further. Sometimes, his mouth dips lower, lips brushing against Shane’s jaw, looking for his neck but stopping short. Shane shivers at the sensation, but also the promise. He thinks about Michael marking him. About sucking his own, dark bruises across Michael’s chest.

“You're really handsome, you know?” Michael says quite suddenly.

“No?”

“You are,” Michael drops his hands to Shane’s hips, rucking up his hoodie and the tee underneath just a fraction of an inch, but he doesn't try to touch the exposed skin. “Your jawline, is like, really nice? And your nose is perfect.”

“I'm not that great.”

Michael sort of pushes Shane’s hips from side to side between his palms, rocking him back and forth. The friction makes Shane draw breath. “You are.”

“And what about you? Fuck, I mean,” as long as they're paying each other compliments, “You about gave me a heart attack at the Luau.”

“Oh?” Michael gives Shane a smile that clearly states he knows exactly what Shane is talking about. “Hmm, it was really hot that day.”

Shane manages to shove Michael in the chest, knocking the air out of him, before collapsing on top of him. Michael wraps his arms around Shane’s back, holding them together. His breath tickles at Shane’s neck. 

“I'd invite you to stay...but I'm trying to be a gentleman here.”

Shane snickers, “I can feel your hard-on through your jeans.”

“...I can feel yours too.”

Burying his nose against Michael’s chest, Shane grunts, “We shouldn't.”

Michael’s hand starts tracing slow, winding circles across Shane’s back. “Okay.”

They manage to pry themselves up off the couch. Michael tugs at Shane’s hoodie, trying to make sure the collar is straight. Michael’s lips look kiss-bitten and Shane’s sure his are the same, or worse, better...more noticeable. They feel puffy and raw when he swipes his tongue over them..

Michael only walks him as far as the door. Maybe if they stay together any longer, Michael will ask him not to go. But Shane is already questioning his own resolve. It would be so, so easy. Just to crawl into bed with Michael, to touch him, be touched in return. But Shane doesn't want to fuck this up, because the possibility is there, lingering between them, that this could be so, so much more. And Shane has had enough failed relationships to worry about things like having sex on the first night, getting caught up in the unrelenting joy of those first few kisses. Michael should know better too.

They kiss, however briefly, before Shane steps outside. He doesn't look back, hearing Michael turn the lock and deadbolt for the night. Keeping his hands in his pockets, he heads back towards the ranch.


	5. Fall I

“So,” Shane hops up onto the lowest rung of the wooden fence Michael has put up to contain his crops. Behind him, Shane can hear the chickens, wandering the yard. It's his day off from Joja and besides, he has to check in on the two baby chicks Marnie delivered during the week. “What did you plant for the fall?”

Michael fiddles with one of his newly installed sprinklers. The irrigation system will save him some time in the mornings, instead of having to spend his early hours watering immature crops. Shane lets his mind drift to what they could spend those mornings doing...some indeterminate time in the future.

“Cranberries, eggplant,” Michael points to each plot as he lists what he's planted there, “yams, and pumpkins.”

“Diverse,” Shane comments.

“Yeah I mean, I was reading about yield efficiency and stuff. And looking at market rates for different crops and all that...but….”

“But?”

“In the end I just planted what I wanted? I don't know, maybe it'll end up fucking me and I'll be broke before Spring. But I got to be optimistic, right?”

“You could always go back to the mines.”

Michael sneers, “I fucking hate those mines.”

Shane laughs, “You could come work with me.”

Opening his mouth, Michael looks on the verge of saying something, but he closes his lips without a word. Instead, he hits the switch on the sprinklers, watching all of them turn on at once. Throwing his hands up in the air, Michael cheers his success. Water splashes against his chest, wetting his tee.

Shane claps slowly, knowing the sarcasm won’t be lost on Michael. Trotting over to the side of the fence, Michael stops in front of Shane. Since Shane’s standing on the fence, he looms over Michael on the ground below.

“That deserves a reward, don’t you think?” Michael smiles. 

“You attached a hose…”

“Yeah and I did a fucking good job of it,” reaching out, Michael grabs at Shane’s hips. The beams of the fence keep them separated.

Shane has to bend at his waist to get down low enough to kiss Michael. He doesn’t linger, pulling back up quickly. “You promised me lunch?”

“Yeah, but I got to take care of the girls first.”

Hopping off the fence, Shane waits for Michael to come around the gate, but instead he vaults himself over, landing with sure footing next to Shane. They walk the short distance to the chicken coop. The birds are already out playing in the yard.

Each of the two small chicks have adopted one of the mature chickens as her guardian, following their surrogate mamas behind as they peck through the grass. Crouching down, Michael coos at them, getting one of the girls to skip over to him, a fluffy yellow chick scrambling under her feet. Shane recognizes her as Cross. The other chicken is Madison. He doesn’t know if Michael has named the other two yet.

Cross nestles in against Michael, fluffing up her feathers before relaxing. Michael runs his hand over her back, telling her what a good girl she is. The little chick looks distressed to be left out. Kneeling in the dirt, Shane scoops her up.

“Have you thought of names yet?” Standing, he cups his hands around the chick, feeling how she flutters in his palm, chirping happily for the attention.

Michael lets Cross totter away, reaching out to bundle Madison instead. “Why don't you name her?”

“She's your chicken.” Shane’s heart swells. 

“You’ll see a lot of her, though.”

Shane looks into her dark, alert eyes. “You're just trying to palm off farm work onto me.”

“Maybe.”

“Cass.”

“Cass?”

“Yeah,” Shane argues, “it's a good name.”

“Okay, okay,” Michael releases Madison to scoop up the other chick. “And this one will be...Vero.”

“Vero? And you were gonna veto Cass?”

Michael shrugs, keeping Vero tucked against his chest as he stands up. “Now that you've participated in their very official naming ceremony, you better come visit them. They’ll be heartbroken if you don't.”

“Okay, yeah,” as if it's trouble for Shane to visit the farm. “Where’s that lunch you promised me?”

“I was going to boil mac and cheese?”

“A whole farm full of produce and you still want to eat pre-packaged junk?” Shane questions.

“Just because I can grow it, doesn't mean I can cook it. And somebody hasn't sent me any new recipes as of late. Besides, give me some credit, it's not from a box, I picked up fresh cheese and stuff from Pierre’s.”

“Fine, fine,” Shane crouches down to let Cass scamper off to rejoin Cross. Michael does the same with Vero. 

They hold hands on the way up to the farmhouse, Michael’s is gritty and slightly sweaty for having worked all morning. Shane squeezes tight until Michael mock complains about his hand being about ready to break.

\--

Michael agrees to go with Shane into the city. He wants to buy that new camera, even though he hasn't heard back about the advertisement competition. While he doubts he’ll win the money, he has enough saved up to get a higher resolution camera. Sending in the entry wasn't really about winning, anyway, but it's gotten Shane thinking about other, better ideas.

While he could order the camera online, he'd much rather pick it up in person. It's been months since he's even thought of making the trip to the city, but the prospect of going with Michael makes the journey less intimidating.

They take the bus, Michael almost falling asleep on Shane’s shoulder as the vehicle coasts through the countryside. With the sprinklers up, Michael has more time to spare on things other than tending the farm, but he says he still got up early to make sure everything was settled. He’ll have even more free time, come Winter.

The bus creaks to a stop at the central depot. Shane shoves on Michael’s shoulder, rousing him a little. Wiping his hand down his face, Michael claims, “I was awake the whole time.”

It's starting to feel cool enough in the crisp Autumn that Shane’s hoodie doesn't seem that out of place. Michael wears the sleeves to his dress shirt cuffed at his wrists, rather than rolled to his elbows, so he must be feeling the chill too. Otherwise they're just in jeans and sneakers, though Michael’s wearing a slimmer fit than he favors around the farm. Shane is pretty fucking aware of the way Michael’s pants cling to his thighs and ass.

Shane’s already worked out the electronics store he wants to visit. Along with two others in case he can't find the camera wants at the first. It's only about a half-mile from the depot. Michael says he doesn't mind walking, if Shane doesn't either.

With his time in Stardew Valley, Shane has forgotten how loud the city really is. Heavy traffic chokes the street, adding to the cacophony of voices from the sidewalks. The air smells different too, thinner, but sticking. Shane wouldn't say that he hates it or anything, it's just different. He's not naive enough to think that the Valley is actually “better” in an objective sense. They're just different.

“You used to live here, right?”

Shane counters, “You did too.”

“Yeah, I was born over by 11th and Chestnut. You know the area?”

Shane does, it's a pricy part of the city, near the University. Tree-lined and somewhat quiet, even though it's still unmistakably urban. The rents are too high for any of the students to actually live there.

“Mm,” Shane acknowledges, “I went to University for awhile.”

“No shit?” Michael balks, “why did you never tell me we went to school together?” Michael would have only been a year ahead of Shane. So yeah, technically they did ‘go to school together.’ But not really.

“I didn't finish, dropped out in my first semester,” Shane explains. “Couldn't hack it.”

“What did you study?” At least Michael isn't pressing the question about why Shane left school. Though, Shane wishes they could talk about something else.

“Film.”

“Duh, right, of course.”

Shane's not sure what that's supposed to mean.

“My parents are professors there. My dad’s a chemist and my mom a psychologist. But I studied polisci as an undergrad.”

They reach the shop and Shane is just relieved that Michael drops the topic of college. Just, Shane doesn't have anything to contribute to the conversation, other than he struggled getting to class, and finishing his assignments, and just, every part of it. Nothing about college agreed with him.

Michael follows him around the shop, keeping quiet while Shane looks at one of the models on his list. He'd done a bunch of research online after deciding he really wanted an upgrade. He makes Michael hold his printed notes, while he picks up the floor sample.

An elderly man, dressed trimly, white beard cut close to his dark skin, asks Shane if he needs any help? The man is Franklin, the shop owner, and while he may have started in the industry during the age of typewriters and clunky 8mm film rigs, he's made it his priority to keep up with technology. It is his business, after all.

Shane asks him about another camera on his list and Franklin points out the right one, advising against it, if only because it's at the end of its life cycle. “Zony is releasing the xc3400 next week. It's only marginally better than the 3200. If you're worried about price, I can sell you that one at a discount. But that DG520 is already better than the 3400.”

Shane goes back to the first camera. He already knows it's the better one, he just wanted to see the difference for himself, feel the weight of it, check out the image quality. Next to the Zony, it's bulky, weighing almost an ounce more, and costing an additional 1,000g. But it's going to give him better results.

“Yeah, I'll go with the DG, thanks.”

Franklin escorts Shane to the register to cash out, Shane passing over his debit card. This is the first time in a long while he’s spent this much money at once. But it’s for a good reason. He knows he can take a project from start to finish now, scripting, filming, and editing. Even if the commercial wasn’t the most intellectual of projects, he finished it. And that’s an accomplishment.

He makes sure to thank Franklin as they head out. Shoving the camera into his backpack keeps it out of sight. He doesn’t know if Michael will want to head straight back to the Valley. It’s not a short trip, by any means, and maybe he still has work this evening. But Shane has no where in particular to be. 

“What’s your next project?” Michael asks, once they’re back outside.

“I was thinking maybe making a documentary about Pelican Town, nothing too long or complicated. Maybe about the Fair. It’s a couple weeks off, so I’ll have time to plan. And it’s an event, so, you know, it has narrative boundaries. Might make for a good, contained story.”

Michael wraps his hand around Shane’s. “Yeah, that would be really awesome. You should let me know if you need help.”

“Didn’t Lewis ask you to have a booth at the Fair?”

“Yeah, but I just need to set it up with produce and stuff. I don’t have to watch it. No one in Pelican Town steals shit.”

Shane can’t argue with that.

It’s obvious enough that they’re not walking back towards the bus depot. Shane’s not sure where they’re going, content enough to wander around for a bit. Michael stops a couple of times to look into first-floor shop windows, but they never go inside. 

“I need a haircut,” Michael pulls at the front of his hair, dragging across his forehead.

Shane snickers, “You’ve needed a haircut since the day we met.”

“You didn’t like my hair?” Michael looks genuinely hurt. 

Michael ends up getting his haircut, from a perky bleach-blond with dark tattoos from his shoulders on down to his wrists. Shane sits in the empty chair across from him, flipping through a fashion magazine, but not really looking at the pages. When the electric razor comes out, Shane wants to intervene, because that undercut doesn’t work for Michael when he’s not willing to maintain it. But fuck it, Shane’s not Michael’s ma. Besides, he doesn’t have to look at Michael’s hair to be able to suck his face.

Uh.

Whatever.

At least for the moment Michael’s hair looks great, the sides cleanly shaven and the rest of it tacked into place with gel. By the time he’s finished up, they’re both starving. Heading down the street, they look for something to eat. 

While they’re tearing through overstuffed sandwiches, fries, and beers, Michael asks Shane if he’s happy. Shane swallows thickly, washing down his last bite with what remains of his beer. Today he is, he’s happy. So he tells Michael, yes. Lately, he’s been happy more days than he’s been empty, so the response doesn’t sound like a lie.

Tossing his used napkin on the center of his plate, Shane jumps up, saying he’ll grab dessert from the counter, before Michael can object. 

\--

Shane leaves the ranch early on the day of the Fair. He wants to make sure he has plenty of time to shoot footage of the tents and booths being set up. His camera is fully charged and he has another battery pack shoved into his bag to swap when the first one gets low.

The morning air is cool and slightly damp as he heads out the door, a granola bar sticking halfway out his mouth. He chews while he walks, not wanting to take the time to stop. Daylight only broke forty minutes ago. He hopes preparations aren’t too far along. 

By the time he reaches the town square, the vendors are only starting to set up. Traveling carts that will provide much of the amusement during the festivities fill up the spaces in between trees and lampposts. Shane approaches the man running the Smashing Stone competition, asking if he can film him.

After getting a few dynamic shots of the vendor setting up his giant scale, dragging the hammer from his cart, Shane thanks him for his time, moving on to the next amusement. 

It takes a long time to set up the miniature fishing hole. Shane gets a few establishing shots before coaxing the vendor to participate in an impromptu interview. He agrees, pushing up his shirt sleeves, telling Shane to talk.

“It’s not about me, it’s about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“How did you get into the traveling amusements business?” 

The man, Charles, explains how his mom and pop met on the road, how it always seemed the right thing to do, to travel, see the world, never found a place to set up roots. Now his wife is the Fortuneteller, and while they don’t have children, each time a new soul joins their crew, they make an effort to ensure they feel at home. Shane doesn’t think that sounds too bad. There’s something undeniably romantic about it.

Shane is about to head to the Fortuneteller next, when he catches sight of Michael, a box of fresh produce in his arms. He should at least go say hello.

Michael smiles when he sees Shane, but continues unloading his crate. He’s brought eggs, that are honestly huge, baskets of fresh cranberries, a good sized pumpkin, and several bottles of jam he must have made over the summer. Shane picks up one of the jam jars, turning it over in his hands.

“Melon?” Shane questions.

“Yeah, Melon. You have a problem with melon?” Michael plucks the jar out of Shane’s hands, placing it back into his display box. Shane has to admit, Michael’s booth looks good. Not just ‘first year’ good. But legitimately good. Pierre won last year, but Michael might give him a run for his money. “How is your filming going?”

“Good,” Shane says, patting his camera. “Mind if I get some footage of your booth?”

Michael pulls a bottle of wine out of his crate. That looks to be the last item. “Sure, but,” he drops his voice, “Maybe later we can make a private video too?”

Shane laughs, shoving at Michael’s shoulder. “Just look natural. I’m mostly interested in shots of the produce.”

“I’ll show you ‘produce.’”

While Shane legitimately does spend most of his time getting closeups of fruits and vegetables and Michael’s carefully printed labels, the camera maybe lingers on Michael too. But Michael in the abstract, his arms, his jaw, his chest. Shane has no intention on using the footage of Michael for his film, but he takes it anyway. 

Before leaving to finally talk to the Fortuneteller, he plays back everything so Michael can see. Michael grins as the video progresses, “Yeah, that’s fine.” He obviously knows.

Shane promises to be there for the judging, “Wouldn't’ miss it for the world.” Heading down the path, he makes his way back to the Fortuneteller. Her tent is already erect, she’s tucked inside. 

Her midnight-blue hood shields her face from the light, other than the crystal ball that illuminates her face. She’s striking, even in her advanced age, with high cheekbones and a flat nose.

“Ah, Child, you’ve come to have your future foretold?” 

Shane considers for a moment how he wants to play this. Holding up his camera, he asks, “Yeah, but can I film it? I’m making a short film about the Fair.”

The Fortuneteller smiles, her teeth straight, but yellowed. “It does not bother me. Normally, I would charge 100g, but since this is for the sake of the arts, puh!” She shrugs her shoulders. “Sit.”

Shane takes the chair across from her, flipping on the camera. He aims the lens at her face, double checking on the display that the angle will work. Filming alone means he can only get her, with no reverse shot of his reactions. Maybe later, if Michael has time, they can shoot his fortune for additional perspectives. 

“Now, tell me, child, what is your name?”

“Shane.”

“Shane, yes, of course,” she slips her hands over the surface of the globe in front of her, light reflecting off her skin. Inside the glass, Shane can see swirling smoke. He aims his camera into the ball, but on the display, he doesn’t capture the haunting magic. “You want to know about that special someone, the person to whom you are very close, yes?”

“Who says there’s someone?” Shane doesn’t entirely believe in this sort of stuff. Really, he doesn’t much believe in magic at all, sure, there are spirits, and coincidence, and yeah, Wizard has some pretty cool tricks. But he’s pretty sure he doesn’t believe in mindreading. But the Valley is full of stranger things. Okay, maybe he believes a little bit.

“You worry that they will change their mind...find you wanting. That they will seek a greater purpose, leaving you behind.”

Shane recoils. He doesn’t want to believe what she says is true. But sometimes, at night, after a shift that was physically exhausting but as mentally stimulating as watching paint dry, his mind races in slow torture. How long will Michael be interested? Once he has seen everything, everything, will he still want Shane to stay? 

The Fortuneteller reaches forward, stroking against the outside of Shane’s hand. That’ll ruin the shot. He’ll have to edit around it. When she pulls back, there’s a soft smile on her dry lips. “They worry too. But that you’ll say ‘no.’”

Shane thanks the woman for her time, mumbling he may be back later to get a few additional shots. He slides out of the tent, without looking back. 

\--

Once the Fair officially opens, Shane spends a couple of lazy hours with Jas, following her from attraction to attraction. She doesn’t actually need supervision, and normally Penny would stick close to both Jas and Vincent, but she’s nowhere to be seen. 

They find Vincent, who does nothing but complain that they don’t need a chaperone. Nothing bad ever happens in Pelican Town. That’s not entirely true, but it’s unlikely the children will be in any danger during the Fair. There are plenty of sympathetic eyes on them at all times. Vincent and Jas get their way. Shane tells Jas to look for him if she needs help with anything.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Shane makes his way up to the booths, hoping to catch Michael. He’s there, looking bored out of his damn mind, but he lights up when he sees Shane.

“Let’s blow this joint.”

Shane rolls his eyes, “Aren’t you going to be judged?”

“Not for hours yet. And I bet I’ll win anyway.” Michael’s hubris is slightly less than charming. “Let’s go.” He grabs Shane’s wrist, dragging them away.

They settle on trying the Smashing Stone. They can take turns filming each other. Shane knows he’s setting up to get his ass handed to him. He goes first, and he doesn’t do badly, exactly. He’s strong enough to get the hammer swung around, crush it into the stone. He gets the marker almost three-quarters to the top, cracking his shoulder after dropping the hammer.

Michael gives him a thumbs up before passing over the camera so Shane can film his attempt. It’s almost too-predictable that his swing hits hard enough to make it to the top of the meter, but he shrugs it off like no big deal. “All about timing.”

Doesn’t matter if Michael is smug about it. The footage is good and Shane can always edit out the audio later.

Despite Shane’s earlier idea to take Michael to the Fortuneteller, he decides against it. She’ll know Michael is the person from Shane’s future in an instant, and he’s just not willing to be that vulnerable. Not when he still doesn’t know what it is Michael’s afraid of. What he thinks Shane will say, “No” to.

They still haven’t had sex, but Shane is fairly certain that’s not it. Because they’ve been on the path towards it, ever tightening circles of intimacy. Shane’s ready, in a way, for when it happens. But neither of them are about to push.

So it has to be something else.

When Lewis announces it’s time to judge the booths, Michael drags Shane back so he can stand with his display. Thankfully, he doesn’t make Shane stand with him. People know, in a sort of abstract way, that Michael and Shane passed the threshold from friends to something more, but it’s not as if they have to make some sort of official statement on the matter. 

Michael looks good, in his ripped jeans and plaid shirt, standing next to a bunch of cranberries and pumpkins. Like something out of a weird, farmer-themed calendar. Shane gets his camera ready, focusing it on Lewis. 

Shane follows the shot from booth to booth, starting with Pierre’s, then Marnie’s, Michael’s, then Willy’s. They’ve each managed to display the items they’re best known for. Well, except Michael, who is maybe still dabbling in a little bit of everything. With a laugh, Michael offers Lewis a glass of his blueberry wine. Shane wishes he had a close up of that.

Once the votes are tallied, it turns out that Marnie has won. Michael winces slightly, but wraps Marnie in a big hug, nearly lifting her off the ground. That’s a great shot too. Michael takes second place, holding up his ribbon proudly. He might even wink at Shane, but Shane’s not really sure. And that’s just so...cheesy. But Shane has to admit, having his two favorite people win is a joy in itself. 

The crowd starts breaking up, heading back to finish with the assorted attractions, turn in their tokens. Shane hasn’t won many, being more focused on filming than playing. But Michael says they’ve got to go claim their prizes.

“What do you want?” Michael asks, looking at the possible rewards. 

“Oh, like you’re rolling in tokens?” Shane comments.

It’s true, Michael has five-hundred from taking second place plus one from the Smashing Stone. Shane has about a hundred more from various games he played with Jas. Michael buys a decorative sunflower vase, saying that’s all he wants before passing off his remaining tokens onto Shane. That means Shane has enough to get the fedora, which he decides to get, plopping it onto Michael’s head. 

“It helps your haircut.”

Michael smiles, throwing his arm around Shane’s shoulders as they leave the Fair.


	6. Fall II

Marnie tells Shane he has a letter. It's not from Michael.

The address to the ranch is there, printed under Shane’s full name. The return address in the upper left corner is to Joja Co HQ in the city. So, the letter could be basically anything...right? Shane tries not to hope, because it's more likely that it's maybe about payroll, or a change in his meager health insurance, or if it does have to do with the contest, a nice ‘thanks for participating!’ note sent out to all entrants with a rubber-stamp signature from the marketing department.

All of those possibilities are more likely than Shane having won. It's wrong to want to win, right?

Shane’s breath hitches as he tears open the envelope, running his finger through the seal. Marnie hovers around the kitchen table, though she always eats faster than Shane. Normally, she'd be waking Jas up, to make sure she’s ready in time to meet with Penny for lessons.

The paper inside is thicker than Shane expects. That's the first piece of tactile evidence that this isn't about his job or participation, it's something more. Shane lets himself hope.

He unfolds the letter. Marnie no longer hides that she is waiting, holding her breath, same as Shane. At the top of the page is his name, below that, “Congratulations.” The check for 10,000g flutters onto the table. Shane sobs and Marnie comes up from behind to hug him where he sits.

His shift starts in thirty minutes, but he excuses himself, hugging Marnie tight, before running out the door. He’ll be sweaty and gross all through his shift, but he doesn't care. Part of him wants to say fuck Joja, but he's realistic enough to know 10,000g isn't really that much money. But it feels good, it feels really fucking good to succeed. 

Shane’s lungs burn by the time he reaches Michael’s farm. Michael is in the yard, opening the door to the chicken coop, when Shane arrives.

“Michael!” Shane shouts, his steps slowing to a trot. Fuck, he's in terrible shape. 

Michael turns, waving, but he looks slightly worried. Right, seeing Shane running, sweat soaked at seven-thirty in the morning isn't exactly normal. 

“I won!”

It takes Michael a second to catch on, but when he does, he smiles. “The ad contest?”

“Yeah,” Shane replies, laughing, “I won.”

“That's amazing, you're amazing.” Michael pulls Shane into a hug, not caring that he's all gross and sticky. Well, Michael will be gross and sticky soon. Before they can pull away from each other, Michael kisses the side of Shane’s head. Then Shane kisses Michael’s lips.

“I gotta get to work, but we should celebrate after, yeah? I want to celebrate.”

Michael nods, “Want to go out? Or stay in?”

Staying in means Michael’s farm. While that sounds good, really fucking good, Shane wants to handle the plans for tonight. Even if they’re celebrating his accomplishment, he wants to treat Michael for once. Besides, he should blow at least a little of his winnings on something frivolous. 

“Won’t feel like cooking after work. Let’s just meet at the Stardrop? Like, sixish?”

“Sure,” Michael agrees, “I can get myself presentable by then.”

Shane pecks Michael goodbye before heading off to work.

\--

Shane actually gets to the saloon by 5:45, which means there’s no way that Michael could get there first, order, and have already paid. It took jogging home from work, taking the world’s fastest shower, and hauling his ass over to the Stardrop, but it’s all worth it to beat Michael to the punch.

Trying to calm his breathing, Shane leans onto the bartop, ordering two beers, some pepper poppers to start, and a pizza for after that. He tells Gus to go ahead and start the poppers in the oven now, Michael should be along soon.

Shane pays for the whole lot upfront, telling Gus to leave his tab open too. Don’t let Michael pay, even if he insists. Gus just laughs in response, saying he doesn’t make a habit out of prying into other people’s relationships.

Having no way to stop the flush rising to his cheeks, Shane turns away, a beer mug in each hand. He sets them down at an empty table to wait for Michael. 

Like clockwork, Michael shows up five minutes to six. His expression makes it obvious that he expected to beat Shane here. Shucking his windbreaker, he asks Shane what he wants to eat?

“I've already ordered,” Shane says, gesturing for Michael to sit and drink. “Hurry up before your beer gets warm.” Not that Michael ever really cares about the temperature of his beer.

Gus shows up a moment later with their peppers, gooey-hot and perfect. Shane shoves one into his mouth, but he should have waited for it to cool. He chases it down with beer, but he's already burned himself. That's what he gets for being impatient. 

“So, any big plans for the money?” Michael asks, still nursing his beer. He has the good sense to wait for the cheese to cool a little bit.

“No, not really,” Shane admits. And shit, he can feel the skin on the roof of his mouth peeling. Great fucking job. “Wasn't expecting anything to come of it.”

Michael grins, “I expected it.”

Shane rolls his eyes, “Flatterer. But yeah, I might just put it into savings for now. I'm still finishing up the editing on the footage from the Fair.”

Michael nods attentively, “Where are you going to send the film?”

Drinking down the last of his beer, Shane’s mouth feels a little less wrecked, but he can still feel the thin film of skin on the roof of his mouth balling up when he scrapes his tongue over it. “Um, well, I was going to send a copy to the public tv station for the county? Maybe they’ll see something they like. But if I don't hear back, I might just post it on YouScreen. I just really want people to see it.”

“I'm sure people will love it, no matter where it ends up. Another beer?”

Shane nods, letting Michael go to the bar. Gus has his instructions. When Michael gets back, his mouth twisted slightly, he says, “You didn't have to do that.”

“You pay all the time, you stubborn mule.”

Emily comes with the pizza not long after. Patience isn't one of Shane’s finer characteristics, but opening his mouth to bite into the first slice he realizes he's about to have a repeat disaster and drops it back on his plate to cool. Michael laughs good-naturedly. 

By the time they finish off the pizza and another couple beers, Shane is feeling loose and tipsy. Not too wishy-washy-sloshy, but enough that his chest feels warm and his head light. First thing’s first, he’s got to settle his tab with Gus. He sways his way to the bar, pulling out folded bills. Not having the chance yet to cash the check from Joja, he pulled a bunch of cash from his sock drawer for tonight.

After the tab is taken care of, Gus tells him, with a wink, not to do anything too responsible. Shane smiles, shoving the rest of his money back into his pocket. Michael is waiting by the door, his windbreaker zipped up to his chin, hands shoved into his pockets.

Once they're outside Shane loops his arm through Michael’s as they walk towards the forest. And fuck, Shane wants to take him home. Home. But the ranch isn't quite the same. He listens to the quiet swish-swish of Michael’s jacket as the synthetic fibers rub against each other.

Shane wants to take him home, lounge around and play video games on the floor. He wants to roll over, pin Michael down, kiss him savagely. He wants to grind and bite and lose himself in sensation. Until they're both blurry and satisfied, skin on skin. Oh, fuck, he wants. But he has no place to take Michael. And it feels rude to ask.

“Do you have to get back?” Michael asks at the point along their route they have to decide what path to take.

Tomorrow morning, Shane has work, again. Bright and early, at eight am. Michael starts work around the farm even earlier, trying to make the most of autumn’s waning daylight. But it's not that late yet, right? Right.

“No, I don't have to.”

Michael throws his arm around Shane’s shoulders, “Want to come back to the farm, for a little bit?”

Shane nods.

They have to stop on their way up to the house to make sure the girls are inside. Michael takes the extra step of checking that the heater is the right temperature and their water bowl is clean. Once he's satisfied that the chickens are content, he finally closes the coop door.

The walk up to the house is quiet, but once inside, they’re anything but. Michael grabs at Shane’s hoodie, starting to pull down the zipper. “Okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Shane’s hands are already wrapped around Michael’s belt, the backs of his fingers brushing against Michael’s hard stomach. He doesn’t move to unbuckle it or anything, it’s just a convenient way to move Michael around the house. 

Working together they get off Shane’s hoodie, Michael’s coat, then Michael’s shirt, all on their stumbling way towards the couch. In between undressing, they manage to sneak in kisses, open-mouthed and deliciously wet. Shane ends up with his back against the couch, half of his legs thrown over one of the armrests, and Michael climbing on top of him. Michael keeps his legs bracketed on either side of Shane’s hips, careful to keep his full weight off of him. 

Since Shane’s hands are free, he might as well use them. So he runs his fingers across Michael’s chest, snaking around to his back, then forward again. He has trouble actually settling down. The furnace in the farmhouse doesn’t work that well and they didn’t stop to start the fireplace. But Michael is warm everywhere.

Dipping his head, Michael kisses Shane without hesitation, without worrying about rejection. They’ve ended up like this enough times before. Making out and grinding on Michael’s couch like fucking teenagers, even though the bed is only a few feet away. Shane assumes it’s on his account, since he was the one who wanted to slow things down. Well, they both agreed. But...Shane still feels like it’s his hangup. Michael skirts his fingers under the hem of Shane’s shirt, as if asking silent permission. But he doesn’t ask directly, and he never tries to actually take it off. Oh, Michael is real casual about stripping down himself, but he doesn’t pressure Shane to match him.

It’s fucking stupid, in a way. Because eventually Michael is going to see him. And it’s not like Shane is even really that self-conscious. Sure, his chest isn’t as nice as Michael’s or whatever. They both spend all day on their feet, but their jobs pad them out differently. And from the amount of time Michael spends feeling up Shane over his clothes, he probably has a pretty good idea of what he looks like under them.

“Hold up a sec,” Shane says, now that he’s set his mind to this. He lifts his shoulders up off the couch, grabbing the back of his tshirt to pull it up and over his head. His hair probably flies everywhere and he and Michael both have to shift a little bit for the shirt to come all the way off. But when Shane finally tosses his tee to the floor, the look on Michael’s face is worth the trouble. 

Michael breathes heavy, “Fuck.” His lips and teeth descend down Shane’s chest, licking over one nipple before scraping with his teeth. Shane hisses at the sharp contact, but he sort of likes it. Likes it better when Michael repeats it on the other side. “You’re so fucking hot. Fuck, Shane,” Michael whines. He’s hard in his jeans. Shane can feel it, obviously. Even though they’ve maybe gone half a step further than they do normally, this is still mostly familiar to both of them. 

Shane sinks his teeth at the juncture of Michael’s neck and shoulder, hard enough to mark. But the impression of his teeth is easy enough to hide. He sucks harshly, until he knows his popped the capilaries. During the week, Shane can think about his damage under Michael’s shirt, remember what a pretty bruise he left behind.

Michael’s breathing deeply when he asks, “Is it okay?”

The actual question is, ‘Is it okay for me to get off?’ For Michael to grind himself against Shane’s thigh or hips or whatever until he comes in his pants. That’s as far as they’ve managed to get. And it’s sort of ridiculous too. Michael sort of does it all the time now. Shane a little less, only because sometimes it’s hard for him to actually finish. Side effect of his medication, he thinks, or, it’s one of the side effects listed on the bottle. But even if he doesn’t cum, he always still feels satisfied. Warm and appreciated and cared for. 

“Ah, yeah but,” Shane drops his head against the couch. “Bed?” He almost doesn’t want to ask. Maybe it’s too many changes all at once. Kind of like flying without a safety net. The couch is small and familiar. The bed’s a whole bunch of possibilities.

Michael’s eyes are wide, a little shocked. “Shane...what do you want?”

“To do this in bed?”

“Okay, but like,” Michael bites his bottom lip. His skin is sweaty, hair sticking to his forehead. He’s over top of Shane, but his face is full of open vulnerability, like he’s the one pinned down. “What do you want once we get there?”

Oh, right.

“You mean how far are we going?”

Michael snickers, “Yeah, except we’re not sixteen, so maybe we could actually talk?”

“Right, talking, very mature,” Shane agrees.

Sitting back on his heels, Michael still has Shane stuck to the couch. They move around a little bit so Shane can get his legs out from under Michael and sit up himself. 

“I don’t want to rush you,” Michael admits. “I mean, I don’t want to rush this. Uh, I don’t want to fuck up?”

“Yeah,” Shane agrees, “I don’t want to fuck up either.”

Michael runs his hand through his hair, unsticking it from his skin. “What do you like?” Michael asks.

It’s not actually an embarrassing question or anything, but Shane knows his cheeks are getting pink. Just an automatic reaction. “It’s been awhile, uh, like since I moved to the ranch…”

Shrugging, Michael says, “Okay, I can’t say I’m super worried about that...okay, how about I go first?”

“Okay,” Shane’s not actually sure that’s necessary, but Michael can knock himself out. 

“So, first, I guess I never said it directly to you before. But, I’m bisexual. Like, I’ve had sex with women too. And sometimes that’s...like a dealbreaker for guys. Hell, it’s been a dealbreaker for women too. I mean, that I’ve had sex with men,” Michael frowns, “So I guess I want to get that out of the way, uh…”

Shane frowns too, mirroring Michael, “Uh...me too.”

Sighing, Michael’s face brightens. “Oh, thank fuck,” he laughs nervously. “I guess I was scared about it? Which is why I never said anything. I was kind of hoping you already knew.”

Shane shrugs, “I didn’t want to assume...but kind of. Um, before we got together, I was pretty sure you were interested in Leah too.”

Michael shakes his head, “A little, I guess. Leah’s really great, but I was always more into you. Leah and I never even went out. But she’s cool.”

“Yeah, she is.” It’s been a long time since Shane has thought of Leah as ‘competition’ for Michael’s affections. When he saw them together at the Luau, he realized it was just friendship between them, and he was being ridiculous. 

“But right, so, now that’s out of the way. I guess I’m pretty flexible. I like oral...a lot. Both giving and receiving. I like anal okay too. But...I’ve had a couple of not great experiences getting fucked. So I maybe don’t like receiving as much. But if you prefer to top, I can deal with it.” Michael's hands move more as he talks than they do normally, fluttering around in the space between them. “That’s about it, I guess. I’ve done other like,” Michael laughs, “Kinkier stuff, but I’ve never made a habit out of it. But again,” he twirls his hands, “I could learn.”

Shane grits his jaw, knowing it’s his turn next. But nothing Michael has said worries him. Not as far as the two of them are concerned. Though he feels a swell of protectiveness at the mention that someone would have dared to hurt Michael, even though Michael didn’t use the word, ‘hurt.’ But that someone would have upset him in any way. 

“Yeah, I mean, that’s fine, good?” Shane knows he’s got to say something more coherent, for Michael’s sake. He clearly wants to talk about this. And Shane’s starting to realize it’s not just for his benefit, but Michael’s too. “Oral’s fine with me, uh. And I don’t have a…” There’s nothing wrong in saying it; it’s only Michael. Shane laughs, “I like bottoming with guys. So, yeah. We’re good.”

“So is that what you want now?”

If Shane is perfectly honest, he’s not quite in the mood anymore. He likes that they talked about this. It’s probably good that they talked about this. But his head isn’t quite as full as it was ten minutes ago, and the tail of his drunkenness has faded off a bit. They could get back there, and Shane still wants to be in Michael’s bed, but the desperation has changed into a quiet cloud. 

“Just hands?” Ridiculous that they haven’t even masturbated each other yet. They should probably start there. Seems like a reasonable step, instead of jumping in head first into everything. “But in bed,” Shane reminds Michael.

“Yeah, in bed.”

Shane follows Michael from the couch to the bed. It’s barely any distance at all. Michael keeps talking about expanding the house a little bit, but that will probably have to wait until Spring. He has to make sure he’s got the materials and the money for Robin. 

Michael drops his pants to the floor, but leaves his boxers on. He’s half-hard in his underwear, squeezing himself through the fabric before flopping into bed. Shane follows, leaving his jeans in the pile on the floor and kicking away his socks. Realizing he still has his socks on, Michael pushes them off and throws them down into the heap.

The bed is way, way more comfortable than the couch, with soft pillows under their heads and enough length to actually stretch out. They should have talked about using the bed earlier. Would have saved a bunch of aches and pulled muscles. They lay side by side, Michael draping his arm over Shane’s waist to pull him close. They kiss and kiss and kiss until Shane’s lips start to feel raw. But he can only think about his mouth for so long, because Michael’s hand snakes into his boxers, the other hand pushing down the elastic until his cock springs free. 

“Show me how to touch you?” Michael asks in a whisper. But he’s doing a pretty fucking good job already, his hand curled just tight enough, warm and restrictive over the smooth skin of Shane’s cock.

“Do you have something...you know, wetter?” Shane usually uses lube when he mastrubates.

“Yeah,” Michael rolls over to the bedside table, popping open the drawer and pulling out a half-full bottle of lubricant. Smearing it over his fingers, he passes the bottle over to Shane, “If we want to do it at the same time?”

Shane nods, uncapping the bottle to moisten his fingers too. The slick smells faintly of cucumbers, not too strong and pretty pleasant. They both wait a second for the lube to warm on their fingers. Michael is the first one to wrap his hand back around Shane, starting out feather light and soft, then tightening until Shane groans.

Shane has half a mind to let Michael finish what he’s doing, this way he can focus on making Michael feel just as good. Because fuck, Shane is horribly occupied with the silky wetness wrapped around him, stroking him with just enough pressure, though he could take more too.

“Shane,” Michael breathes, “Please.”

Hearing Michael’s voice brings Shane back for a moment, realizing they were going to try this together. Rucking down Michael’s boxers, Shane takes hold of Michael’s cock, heavy in his hand.

“Fuck, like that, yeah,” Michael babbles as Shane strokes him, thrusting his hips a little into Shane’s grip.

They never quite synchronize, both too anxious-hot to bother with making it poetic. Michael keeps grinding his hips and eventually so does Shane, their bodies tucked close together, Shane can feel Michael’s hair brush against his chin as he dips his head to suck at Shane’s Adam’s apple. When his mouth isn’t busy on Shane’s body, Michael just can’t keep quiet, gasping and pleading and making promises about how he’s can’t wait to get Shane’s cock in his mouth, how he’s going to fuck Shane through the mattress, how he’s going to come.

And he does, in long spurts splashing against Shane’s chest. Shane isn’t far behind because now that he doesn’t have to think about what his hand is doing, he’s thinking of all the things Michael’s still talking about doing to him, with him, for him. “Fuck, Michael.”

Shane’s whole chest flushes red and his legs feel like jelly. He’s not going to be able to stand right away, but they’re curled up in a fairly big wet spot, Michael skimming kisses along Shane’s face. 

“Are you happy?” Michael asks.

Shane nods, “Yeah.” Right now, he is. It’s been a fucking fantastic day. 

“I have an extra set of sheets….but that means we have to get up.” Reaching out, Michael sticks his clean hand into Shane’s hair, running it between his fingers. 

Shane makes a muffled sound of protest. He’s still too boneless to go home. Not that Michael is asking him to go home. He worries for a second if he’s supposed to go home. 

“We’re too old to sleep in our own cum, man.”

Michael wants him to stay, asking without asking. Shane has work in the morning. And he doesn’t have a change of clothes. But if he gets up really early, like, thirty minutes earlier than normal, he can head back to the ranch and still have time.

Leaning forward, Michael kisses Shane’s forehead, “Come on, Shane. Don’t make me carry you.”

Shane doesn’t believe for a second Michael would actually try and pick him up. But he does roll over, planting his feet on the floor. Michael doesn’t ask him to help with changing the sheets, stripping the bed in silence and pulling a fresh set of linens from the under-bed drawer. Michael makes the bed well enough, though the corners aren’t really sharp. Shane flops back down just as soon as the bed is made. He’s fucking exhausted.

“You don’t want to brush your teeth or anything?” Michael asks. Shane guesses he’s implying that Shane can use his toothbrush or whatever. But after Shane grumbles into the pillow, Michael lets him be, padding off to the bathroom to take care of himself. 

Once he gets back, Michael drapes his arm over Shane again, letting them share body heat. Shane is already half asleep.


	7. Fall III

They’ve just finished eating dinner, spaghetti with sauce made from summer tomatoes Michael canned last season, juicy meatballs, bought pre-made from Pierre’s, and garlic bread Shane kept piling more of Marnie’s butter onto before sticking in the oven. The food is warm and delicious and the heat from the stove keeps the chill out of the house. 

Shane hasn’t had a chance to stay over again. That’s too much of an intrusion. Besides, he can’t just tell his aunt he’s upped and moved in with Michael. Not that she would necessarily object. But, basically, that whole situation needs to work itself out. Because they are still taking this slow, just, they’re starting to hit some of the road markers on their map. But slowly. 

So, there’s sort of an open invitation, that Shane can stay over, when he wants to. Tomorrow he doesn’t have to work, so this seems as good a night as any. 

They crash on the couch, Michael’s back against one armrest and his feet on the other. Shane is basically on top of him, with his back to Michael’s chest. They’re watching the public tv station, which has been running marathons of cooking programs in the evenings. Neither of them can much learn from the show, but they like to comment on it like they know what the fuck they’re talking about. 

It’s not super comfortable on the couch, but they can’t really see the television from the bed, so they have to make due. While they watch, Michael runs his fingers under Shane’s shirt, skirting against his skin, sometimes he dips lower, into the waistband of Shane’s pants. None of it seems to be deliberate, they just like touching each other. 

The fourth episode ends. Michael stretches his arms over his head in a way that has to be exaggerated, asking if Shane wants to go to bed. They probably won’t be sleeping any time soon, not if Shane gets his way. Because he’d really fucking like to put his hands on Michael again.

“Okay.”

Shane gets up first, stumbling towards the bathroom. They’ll probably end up a mess anyway, but he at least wants to wash his hands and face. When he get there, the fluorescent lights bright in his eyes, he sees it: a second toothbrush in the little ceramic cup by the sink, bright blue and unused. It’s for him.

\--

Leah and Elliot’s wedding is on the 22nd of Fall. Leah wears a mixture of seashells and cranberry leaves pinned into her hair. Elliot wears a suit that almost matches the tiny, bright berries.

The ceremony is on the beach and while the whole town is invited, it still manages to feel intimate. Even though there’s a distinct chill in the air, Leah’s dress is short and her feet bare in the sand. Everything about the day suits them. They smile so brightly, it puts the sun to shame.

After vows are exchanged, concise and beautifully sweet, not exactly what Shane expected, they kiss chastely to the cheers of the crowd. It's a really beautiful scene.

Michael keeps his fingers tangled in Shane’s through the ceremony, up until the moment Elliot and Leah break their kiss. Formalities give way to closely clutched groups of friends, sharing gossip and wine and laughter.

Leah’s cheeks are flushed, asking Penny what she thinks? Insinuating she and Maru are next with a wink.

“I don't think…” Penny shakes her head, “Maru is going to University. So...I…”

“You could go too,” Michael suggests. But that just makes Penny balk. 

“I can't. I haven't applied...I'm not…”

“Do you want to, though?” 

Penny frowns.

Leah at least has the good sense to redirect the conversation, although its current topic is at least somewhat her fault. “Thank you for the cranberries, Michael,” she lifts her hand to touch the arrangement in her hair.

\--

Marnie heads to the Spirit’s Eve festival early to help set up for the festivities. The Wizard is in charge of the maze, but Marnie, Gus, and Emily are making sure that the refreshments are ready. Plus someone has to “skeleton wrangle,” whatever that means.

Shane helps her load the cart and waves goodbye as she heads into town. Jas is off somewhere with Vincent, playing until the decorations are ready.

Flopping down on his bed, Shane waits for Michael. He said he'd come to the ranch first, then they could walk over together. It'll probably be a couple of hours yet, so Shane pulls himself up, only to lounge in front of the television, turning his console on.

Earlier in the week, he sent his documentary about the Stardew Valley Fair to the local tv station. Now there’s nothing else to do but wait. He’d briefly considered filming Spirit’s Eve, but the festival doesn't start until the sun has already gone down and he doesn't have a low-light lens. Besides, he thinks he might like fiction films better. Only problem with that is he needs a plot.

Mindlessly, he runs a few races in SuperAuto 12 before he hears the doorbell. Glancing at the clock, it's still too early for Michael. But it might be important, so Shane ambles towards the door. He doesn't bother looking through the peephole, just opening the front door.

Turns out to be Michael, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. “Hey, I'm early.”

“Yeah, you are,” Shane will need at least thirty minutes to get ready. He'd expected to take a quick shower before getting changed. Not that he's upset to see Michael this early, he just wasn't expecting it.

Michael shrugs, “Are your aunt and Jas out already?”

Shane narrows his eyes, “Yeah?”

“Cool, can I come in?”

Shane steps aside, letting Michael into the foyer. There's no use leaving for the festival earlier, since nothing will be ready. Which begs the question, why is Michael here?

“I got really bored waiting. I hope it's not a problem?”

“Nah,” Shane says, and he means it. Just, now that he's got Michael at the ranch, he's not entirely sure what to do with him, even if the others aren't home. “Are you hungry at all?”

“Not really…”

“Beer?”

“Yeah, sure.”

They head to Shane’s bedroom, he still has a couple of beers under the bed. Even though Marnie drinks too, she never keeps alcohol in the fridge, choosing to always partake at the saloon. So Shane doesn't put his beer in there either. Though, it's been awhile since he last drank in his room.

He pops the tab to one, passing it to Michael before opening his own.

“Oh, hey, SuperAuto 12.” Michael doesn't have a console at the farm, so Shane has always assumed he doesn't really play video games. 

“I have a second controller around here, somewhere?”

“Yeah, that would be awesome.”

Shane has to dig around in the closet to find the second controller. The battery in it is dead, so it’s got to stay plugged into the console to turn on. He offers to take the corded one, but Michael says that's fine, he doesn't mind sitting close to the tv.

They run through a couple of laps on split screen, sprawled out across the floor. Michael is absolutely atrocious at the game. Or maybe it only seems that way, because Shane plays a lot. Michael gets frustrated pretty easily, throwing down the controller, but almost as quickly, he picks it up again.

When Shane says he has to go get ready, Michael rolls over until he knocks into Shane, offering his lips for a kiss. It's sort of silly and childish and wonderful.

\--

They make it to Spirit’s Eve just as the celebration starts, heading straight for the tables piled with food. Proudly, Michael says the ale is his. Well, his hops. Pierre’s been the one actually responsible for brewing it.

They take two mugs with them, along with a single plate that Shane lets Michael hold, stacked with cubes of cheese and sliced meat and pumpkin butter and bread. Because Michael has the plate, Shane has to hold his beer for him when he wants to actually eat something. The whole process is sort of cumbersome.

Ditching the plate, they just get another round of ale before heading to look at the caged skeletons. The Wizard must have enchanted them, or something, they look really fucking real. Not like Shane is scared or anything. He takes another sip of his ale, and totally doesn't flinch when it's just Michael’s arm snaking around his waist.

“Do you want to try the maze?” Michael asks, taking Shane’s empty glass.

“Okay, sure.”

“I guess we’re not supposed to take glassware in,” Michael sighs, setting the beer steins down on the nearest table as they pass.

Jas and Vincent are at the entrance to the maze. Vincent stamps his foot, saying he is old enough to go inside. 

“No, absolutely not. Neither of you,” Jodi says, holding her younger son in place by his shoulders. Sam slips through the gate with Sebastian and Abigail, sticking out his tongue at his younger brother.

“But mom!”

Jas joins in, trying to convince Jodi to let them both inside, but Jodi’s not budging. The maze is too long, they’ll get tired. And it’s too scary, they’ll have nightmares.

Michael and Shane avoid the mini-confrontation between the children and Jodi and, luckily, Jas doesn’t notice Shane. If she did, she might try to get her Godfather to intervene on her behalf, because she’s a whole three months older than Vincent, so surely she’s old enough to brave the maze. 

While they both know the whole, “stick to the left,” trick with mazes, they don’t really adhere to that plan. Part of the fun is taking the wrong turn, seeing what the Wizard has in store for them. Shane doesn’t know the Wizard very well, but he knows Michael has helped him with a couple things. He planted pomegranate trees for harvest next year, at the Wizard’s request. 

Michael keeps his arm around Shane’s shoulders as they move through the hedge maze. Walking side by side means that Michael’s jacket and Shane’s hoodie scrape against the bushes when there’s an errant branch. Shane keeps his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

The first person they encounter is Harvey, face first in a dead end, standing stone still.

“Harvey?” Michael questions, “Are you okay?”

Harvey nearly jumps out of his fucking pants when Michael opens his mouth, turning around sharply and sticking his hands into the bush behind him. “Oh! You found me...the truth I got too scared. So I figured I would hide here for a bit before heading out.” He adjusts his frames on his nose. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“No, but...why don’t you just go?”

Harvey shakes his head, “I don’t want them to know I’m afraid. How silly that would be of me…”

“Just say it wasn’t your thing, I mean,” Michael shrugs, “fuck them. Who in this town is going to say anything?”

Harvey drops his shoulders, but looks unconvinced. They tell him good luck and continue on with the maze. 

A little further down they encounter Maru, who for all her technical prowess is slightly confused by the layout of the turns, stalking back and forth, mumbling to herself. 

They reach a stretch of the path choked with enchanted hands, coming through the earth, grasping at the air. In the semi-darkness, they’re almost not visible. But they squirm too much and both Michael and Shane see them before stepping through.

“I guess we don’t have a choice?” Michael comments.

“It can’t be that bad.”

Michael laughs, “Just don’t let them get fresh with you.”

They decide to take the path through the wriggling hands single-file, to keep groping to a minimum. Shane heads through first, with Michael behind him. Shane hears a yelp from Michael about halfway through the corridor that makes his teeth rattle. The hands have been brushing against their legs all along, so he’s not sure what could have caused Michael to actually yell. 

Shane turns around sharply to face Michael, whose eyes are wide with shock.

“It grabbed my ass!”

Bursting into laughter, Shane says, “I can’t say I blame it.”

Michael huffs. Once they get through the section with the hands, Shane laces his arm through Michael’s, who now refuses to take his hands out of his windbreaker pockets. 

Not long after, they encounter an old television set, broadcasting static. Shane looks behind the monitor, trying to figure out how they actually got the tv up and running in the middle of the town. There aren’t any electrical outlets nearby, so it must be running off a battery pack. But, while Shane can see the power cable, it isn’t actually plugged into anything, just laying loose on the ground.

“That’s weird,” Shane comments.

Michael stands in front of the screen, staring at it intently. Without paying attention to Shane, he crouches low, getting eye-level with the television set. He’s behaving weird. Like, weird enough that Shane starts getting concerned. Reaching out, as if to touch the screen, Michael looks in a daze. 

Worried now, Shane shoves at Michael’s shoulder, trying to rouse his attention. “Come on, Michael?”

At the contact, Michael starts, blinking heavily before running his hand down his face. “Sorry, I thought I saw my grandfather. It was so weird.”

Shane looks at the screen, still seeing nothing but static. Laughing, he tries to brush off his concern, “Maybe you’ve had one too many glasses of ale?”

Forcing a smile, Michael replies, “Look who’s accusing me of being a lightweight.” He pushes himself up off the ground, turning away from the tv. Shane catches his hesitance to leave and his blood runs cold. Maybe Michael shouldn’t help the Wizard anymore. 

The town fountain stands at the center of the maze. Abigail, Sebastian, and Sam sit around the edge, gathered so close together, their hips touch. Sebastian is in the middle, the other two on either side. Abigail waves them over, asking if they like the maze so far?

Shane answers for them both, saying it’s fine. Michael stays silent. 

“Abigail is afraid of the spiders,” Sam blurts out. 

Reaching across Sebastian’s lap, she shoves at Sam, “You didn’t have to tell them. Besides, I never said you had to stay,” she frowns. 

“It’s not fun unless we all go,” Sam counters. “Besides, I said I’d hold your hand.”

“I’m not a baby.”

Sebastian doesn’t get involved, though he’s literally in the middle of their argument. He just sighs deeply, waiting for his boyfriend and girlfriend to work out what they’re doing next. It’s a great opportunity for Michael and Shane to excuse themselves as well. Shane has to admit, he feels a bit bad for Sebastian, but he sort of dug his own grave.

Other than having to find a hole in the hedge to continue through, the rest of the maze is fairly easy to navigate. No more weird surprises or strange diversions. Shane in thankful. After the television, Michael has been quiet and Shane uneasy.

They reach what must be the end of the maze, a heavy leather and brass trunk ahead of them. The latch is open but the lid closed. The ground under their feet is somehow both dark and faintly glowing. Cautiously, Shane pokes at it with his foot. It’s solid and not sticky or anything, so he takes a step inside towards the chest. Michael stays close.

Throwing open the lid, Shane finds the golden pumpkin inside. They’re the first to reach the center of the maze. When he turns to look at Michael, he’s at least smiling, looking calmer than before. “Awesome,” Michael says. “So, we won?”

“Sort of?” Shane hasn’t really been thinking of the maze as a competition or anything. But it’s kind of cool to be the first ones to finish. The pumpkin isn’t very big, but it’s heavier than Shane expects, so he fumbles a little getting it out of the chest. Michael reaches out to take it from him and Shane doesn’t object. His back is kind of sore anyway. 

Backtracking their steps, they make their way to the entrance. The maze has pretty much cleared out. The others must have given up trying to solve it. Or, maybe now that the pumpkin is claimed, they didn't think it worth the effort.

When the emerge from the hedges, Elliot and Leah are just now entering. “I knew we’d be too late,” Leah says, pointing at the pumpkin Michael carries.

“Yeah, we just got done,” Michael comments. At least he's talking again.

Leah is undeterred, telling Elliot she still wants to see the maze. He indulges her, trotting along behind as she breaks into a jog, her gold-brown hair bouncing with each step she takes.

There are other people still milling around, finishing up their food, getting a last look at the skeletons, but the crowd has definitely thinned out since they went into the maze. “Hey, how do you feel about heading back?” Shane asks. He's hoping to follow Michael to the farm. After what happened with the television, he’s worried.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

It doesn't take long to reach Michael’s, though they have to detour around the decorations. Clean up can wait until morning, so anything that isn't perishable has been left out until then.

Michael tells Shane to grab the keys from his back pocket, since his hands are still busy with the pumpkin. Shane already knows which key is for the deadbolt and which is for the knob, having watched Michael opened the door dozens of times already.

Leaving the pumpkin on the table, Michael finally gets a chance to stretch his arms. His joints crack when he gets his hands over his head. The groan he lets out is downright filthy in its satisfaction.

Shane toes off his shoes, leaving them by the door. He's been biting his tongue, not wanting to upset Michael more, but it's going to eat at him if he doesn't say anything. “Michael…the television.”

Michael tenses, “What about it?” He opens the door to the fridge, but doesn't take anything out, closing it without even really looking.

“You've been acting strange since then.”

“Yeah,” Michael admits. “Just, I wasn't expecting to see my grandfather. I don't know what kind of trick that was supposed to be?”

“I dunno,” Shane didn't see anything other than static. He doesn't know where to begin. “You didn't know him that well, did you?”

“No, I was never that close to my mom’s side of the family. She was an only child and just...we spent more time with my dad’s is all.”

Michael strips from his jacket, his sweater, then his shirt, heading straight for the bathroom. Shane putters around the kitchen while he's gone, washing the glasses Michael left in the sink before sticking them on the drying rack. 

Finished in the kitchen, Shane flops down on the couch to wait for Michael, rubbing his socked feet against the cushions. He flips on the tv, scanning through channels, though he already knows he’ll find nothing worth watching.

When Michael emerges from the bathroom, he leans over the back of the couch to put his mouth into Shane’s hair, mumbling that he's tired. So is Shane.

They get into bed, tucked close together under two layers of blankets. With the lights off, Michael suddenly seems willing to talk about his grandfather. “You know, I never remember him...saying that he loved me. Or anything like that. I guess he wasn't good with emotions.”

Shane doesn't say a word, but he runs his fingers over the skin of Michael’s wrist, wrapping his fingers around it, squeezing and releasing. A constant thudding presence between them.

“But I was maybe like, twelve? And he came to visit us in the city. In the winter, you know, less farm work? And he brought this model train set for me. Tracks that actually worked and like, little houses and hand painted trees. Like, really, really detailed. I don't know, I thought it was awesome when I was a kid, right? But I guess I didn't understand until later.”

Shane can only barely make out Michael’s face in the darkness. His eyes are open, his breathing even.

“Now I think about how much time it would have taken him to build that set. How many hours he must have spent just, assembling and sanding and painting and making it all perfect. Working the farm now...I realize how little time he must have had to spare. And he spent it building that set for me. He must have loved me, right?”

“Yeah,” Shane whispers back. 

How could anyone not love Michael?

Shit.


	8. Winter I

Bundled in his winter jacket with his hoodie underneath, Shane makes the trek up to Michael’s farm. The ground was cold, but dry, when he started his shift early this morning. By the time he took his lunch break, there was about an inch of fluffy snow. Now there's a solid four inches covering every flat surface. The snowfall is soft and loose and catches the last strands of winter daylight as Shane crosses the town square.

Michael’s given him keys for the house, ”in case of an emergency,” but Shane still rings the bell out of politeness. Stamping his feet on the welcome mat to shake loose the remaining flecks of snow, he waits for Michael to open the door. When Michael doesn't appear after a couple of long minutes, Shane tries his key. His face is getting cold.

He gets the door open, but Michael’s not inside. Shane calls for him anyway, just to make sure he's not in the bathroom or anything. There's no reply.

The only other place he could really be is the coop. Since he specifically said he wasn't going into the mines today. Michael is still waiting on Clint to forge him a sturdier pickaxe. And he's ordered a better backpack off the internet to use for hauling minerals.

By next Winter, Michael hopes to have the greenhouse up and running. And maybe a bigger chicken coop. Then he can have enough stuff to sell through the Winter and not bother with the mines. Hopefully.

Shane jogs down to the coop, finding the door closed tight. He pulls the door open, honestly a little relieved to find Michael inside.

Sitting by the space heater, Michael has Vero curled up in his lap. All four chickens are grown enough now to produce eggs, but they still like cuddling. “Hey,” Michael smiles up at Shane from his place on the floor. “You found my note?”

“No,” Shane replies, flopping on the floor and pushing down his hood. Cross skips over to him, head butting his legs until he picks her up and puts her in his lap. She clucks, spinning around and around over top of Shane’s legs until she finds the position she wants and settles down. Shane skims his hand over her feathers.

The warmth from the electric furnace doesn't travel far, but it is deliciously hot, bringing feeling back into Shane’s nose as he sits beside it.

“Oh, it's not a problem. I just left it on the kitchen counter, saying I was out here.”

“Okay.”

They spend a few minutes more with the birds before Michael’s stomach makes a horrible groaning sound. Joking, he says they better start on dinner, because Cass is starting to look delicious. She's the ornery one of the bunch. 

Letting Vero totter off, Michael gets to his feet, offering Shane a hand up. They wash their hands in the utility sink before readying to leave. Michael’s winter coat hangs on a hook by the door and he grabs it to pull it on so they can head up to the house.

Michael suggests artichoke dip for dinner. He has a bunch of leftover corn chips that shouldn't be quite stale. And maybe some scrambled eggs. They're both still a mess at cooking, so it's not like Shane has a better suggestion.

Once inside the house, they start unbundling from their winter layers. Michael has the fireplace on and it warms the little house beautifully. Unlike Shane, Michael has proper winter boots. Shane's sneakers are soaked all the way to his socks.

Shane steps towards the oven, trying to figure what temperature it'll need to melt the cheese without burning it. But before he can decide, Michael grabs his wrist, dragging him away from the stove. Michael shoves Shane so his back is against the fridge, pinning Shane with the bulk of his heavier body, capturing his lips. 

They kiss for a bit, opening their mouths to each other, scraping teeth against wet lips. Shane almost forgets that he’s hungry, curling his hands around Michael’s arms until he's white-knuckled.

Michael’s hands dance to Shane’s belt, working the buckle open. Their lips part just far enough for Michael to ask, “Okay?”

Shane nods frantically as Michael grinds against him, finally pulling his belt off. When the buckle hits the floor, the sound reverberates through the whole house.

“Shane?” 

“Yeah?” Shane squeezes his eyes tight, toes curling in his socks. He keeps grinding down on Michael’s leg, which is slotted between his.

“I want to suck you, okay?”

Shane groans, “Fuck,” because this is another one of those destinations on their map. And yeah, yeah, Shane’s ready to arrive.

Pushing Shane’s pants and boxers down with a sharp tug, Michael laughs against Shane’s neck. “You can, ah, pull my hair a little, if you like? I like it.” His hands skim down Shane’s still covered chest as he drops to his knees on the kitchen tile.

Michael’s palms are warm, pressing against Shane’s bare thighs before inching closer together, coming to cup Shane’s balls, one hand wrapping around his cock. Shane throws his head back against the fridge, dropping one hand into Michael’s hair as he wraps his lips around the head of Shane’s cock.

Inch by inch Michael exchanges his curled hand for his wet mouth, sinking down onto Shane. He doesn't quite take Shane all the way down his throat, but the suction of his mouth as he starts pulling off is wet and tight and makes Shane’s knees weak. 

Shane tugs at the top of Michael’s hair. He said it was okay to pull, but Shane is too directionless to really take advantage. The heat of Michael’s mouth around him too consuming. So he just makes his grip tighter and tighter in Michael’s hair until something between a shout and a groan slips out of Michael’s mouth, sending vibrations down Shane’s skin.

Michael keeps at it, with unceasing determination, trying to push himself deeper on each attempt, opening up his jaw and pushing down on Shane’s cock until his nose is buried in Shane’s dark pubic hair. But he can't hold that position for long, drawing back sharply and coughing.

Shane starts mumbling apologies, but Michael doesn't hesitate to go down on him again, running his tongue along the underside of Shane’s cock and doing that groaning thing until Shane’s seeing stars behind his eyelids, exploding and fading. He tries to shout himself, a polite warning so Michael can pull off, but Michael is undeterred, holding Shane’s cock in his mouth until he’s weak-kneed and spent, relying on the door behind him to keep him on his feet.

Michael hops up quickly, spitting into the kitchen sink and rinsing his mouth with water. Shane puts his hand against his forehead, trying to compose himself. Once Michael finishes cleaning his mouth, he wraps his arms around Shane’s waist, pulling him away from the fridge and kissing him soundly. “Good?”

Shane nods, “Yeah,” he's still a little bleary. “You want me to?” He probably needs another minute before he can actually do anything, but he doesn't want to leave Michael unsatisfied. 

“Well...I'm not going to say no. But I don't want to force you into something you're not ready for. I just...like doing it. Wanted to do it for you.”

“I want to,” Shane mumbles. “Not in the kitchen?”

“Couch? Bed?” Michael gives him options.

“How about you sit on the couch?”

“Perfect.” Michael grabs Shane’s hand, pulling him towards the couch. Before he sits down, he strips out of his shirt and shucks his pants. Shane is suddenly very aware he's pantsless too, but his shirt is long enough to hide his now-soft cock.

On his knees in front of Michael, the first thing Shane does is pull off Michael’s socks. They sort of ruin the picture, because otherwise Michael is fucking perfect. Flat planes and lightly defined muscles and a fine dusting of hair. He's not as carved as he was when he first came to the farm. Shane thinks he might like this better.

It's been more than two years since Shane did this, but he's familiar with the general concept. Michael’s cock is nice, like the rest of him, and Shane knows how to work it really well in his hand by now. So he starts there, licking his palm and wrapping it around Michael’s cock, stroking him until he's satisfied Michael is hard enough. 

“You’re killing me,” Michael groans.

Shane tips his head forward to wrap his lips around the head of Michael’s cock, feeling as Michael nearly jumps at the contact. Michael starts babbling, about how good Shane feels, how hot he looks, how he doesn't want this to end. Shane bobs his head, taking Michael as hard and fast and deep as he can manage, listening to Michael’s talk turn incoherent. He's warm and thick in Shane’s mouth, salty precum leaking from the tip.

Michael pants, “Shane, Shane,” before he comes, thick and bitter in Shane’s mouth. His hands are shaking in Shane’s hair, not grabbing or pulling, just stroking through it. “Oh fuck, Shane.”

Shane doesn't mind swallowing as he crawls up onto the couch to sit with Michael, resting their weights against each other. Michael wraps his arm around Shane’s shoulders, dragging him close to kiss the side of his head. With his other hand, he tugs at Shane’s shirt.

“Shane?”

“Yeah?” They still haven't eaten. Shane's stomach protests. Swallowing cum on an empty stomach is probably going to come back around to haunt him, fuck.

“I love you, Shane.” 

Shane stills. He didn't expect that. He's been thinking it too. Since Spirit’s Eve but...he wasn't expecting Michael to feel the same. And in his moment of confusion, Shane says nothing.

“Do you love me?” Michael asks, his voice filled with gentle hope.

Shane snaps out of his daze. “Yes. Michael, I love you,” Shane smiles, his heart feels lighter having said it. He laughs, “I love you, Michael.”

\--

Tucking his nose under his scarf, Shane tries to keep his face warm. Michael appears a moment later, two mugs of warm cider in his gloved hands. He gives one to Shane, keeping the other for himself.

Though it’s still early in winter, the lake has frozen over, just in time for the Festival of Ice. Abigail and Sam are skating, trying to convince Sebastian to join them. He refuses from the sidelines.

“You know how to skate?” Michael asks, sipping his cider.

Shane has to pull his scarf down to get his mouth around the rim of the mug. “I did, when I was younger, but I haven't skated in a long time.”

“I don't have my skates, anyway,” Michael comments.

Jas and Vincent are playing with Penny, working together to build a snowman. Maru watches them, while exchanging words with Haley. Funny, Shane didn't think the two of them were friends.

The ice fishing contest is about to begin. Pam, Willy, and Elliot all take their places on the ice, waiting for Lewis to signal the start. Sam and Abigail skate over, their arms twined together, stopping just close enough to watch. Sebastian walks out onto the ice to join them, taking hold of Abigail’s other hand.

“Aren't you supposed to be competing?” Shane asks Michael.

“Lewis asked me, but I'm shit at fishing. I think Emily is supposed to take my spot?”

And as if on cue, Emily dashes in, fishing pole against her shoulder. She smiles brightly, her hands wrapped in thick mittens.

“You go, sis!” Haley cheers Emily from the sidelines, her pink earmuffs fuzzy enough to flutter in the breeze. Emily gives her two thumbs up before turning back to her assigned fishing hole.

Michael shoves his shoulder into Shane’s, “Who do you think will win?”

“Willy,” of course he will. He's the best fisherperson in town. It's literally his job.

Michael looks over all four of his options. “20g on Pam.”

“You're on,” Shane takes the bet.

After a tense thirty minutes, it's Elliot who comes out on top. Three fat fish reeled in and then released back into the water. Leah is jumping up and down as he's announced the winner, yelling that she knew he could do it.

There's still time left in the day, and the cider is still warm. While enjoying a third mug, someone pelts Michael in the back of the head with a snowball. He whips his head around, coming face to face with Abigail, who shrieks before running off.

“Oh! I'll get you!” Michael shouts, sticking his mostly-empty mug into the snow and grabbing up a handful to mould into a coarse snowball. He darts after her, flinging snow towards her back, watching the ball explode against her puffy parka.

That's when Sebastian pops out from behind a tree, smacking Michael full in the face.

Shane has no choice but to rush to Michael's defense, scooping up two handfuls of snow as he heads into battle.

\--

Michael asks Shane if he wants to go into the city? Not just for the day, but spending the night. Since he's planning on being in the Valley for the Feast of the Winter Star, he wants to visit his parents before things get too hectic. And come Spring, he won't have the time to visit.

Shane is hesitant at first. Meeting Michael’s parents is a big deal, right? But, then again, Michael already knows Marnie and Jas. He wonders if maybe they should visit his ma in the city too? Shane hasn't seen her in awhile, though they've talked on the phone. While he hasn't told her about Michael, she might know. Marnie may have told her.

“Shane?” Michael asks again when Shane doesn't answer. “You don't have to, if you think it would be too weird?”

“No, ah,” Shane collects his thoughts, “do you want me to meet them?”

Michael exhales, “Yeah, I do.”

“Okay.”

They end up agreeing to visit Shane’s mom too. Michael finalizes the plan right away, arranging for bus tickets and letting his parents know they’ll be there. He laughs on the phone when he says he's bringing Shane with him.

Shane ends up calling his ma too, telling her there's someone he wants her to meet. She sounds so happy for him on the other end of the line. Her voice makes Shane feel a little homesick. The ranch is sort of his home. But his ma is sort of his home too. Not her tiny studio apartment, which is too small for him to stay in. But just...her, as a concept. She's something like home.

\--

Dr. Kamala is thin, distinguished, and impossibly tall. He offers his hand to Shane, smiling and saying he's happy to finally meet him. He's heard only good things. Dr. Paul-Kamala is short, soft, and has the same bright, personable disposition as Michael. Her auburn hair is still pinned up in plastic curlers when they arrive. She has a class to teach in an hour, but she’ll be right back once she's finished with today’s lecture.

Michael’s parents’ row house is impressive. All hardwood floors and stainless steel finishes. Dr. Kamala, er, Rohan, tells Shane he should feel at home while he's here. They've made sure Michael’s old room is ready for them. He seems perfectly comfortable with the idea they’ll share one room, which relaxes Shane somewhat.

Shane stays close to Michael as they move through the narrow hallway to the living room. There's tea brewing in the kitchen and the spicy scent of it wafts through the whole first floor. Sarah breezes back in, her hair finally settled, kissing her husband on the cheek and asking if there’s still coffee?

“Yes, from this morning,” he rolls his eyes. “Some of us get up before eleven-thirty.”

She sing-songs from the kitchen that it's his own fault for teaching a 9am intro class.

Rohan smiles, turning his attention back to Michael and Shane. It's all so beautifully domestic. Different than what Shane expected. Different from his own childhood. Because while his ma loves him, worked so hard to give him what she could, Michael’s life looks like something out of a storybook in comparison.

“So, Eshan, how is the farm coming along?” Michael’s parents only ever seem to call him Eshan and Shane worries that he should too, while he's here. Michael is already babbling about the girls, how they’re his absolute favorite part of the farm.

As Michael and his father talk, the similarity in their features start to blur, they have the same nose, the same dark, thick eyebrows. But Michael’s face is slightly rounder, more like his mother’s. 

“And Shane, what do you do?” Rohan asks. Before Shane can answer, Rohan turns to Michael, “Eshan, the tea should be done.”

Michael gets up off the couch, squeezing Shane’s shoulder as he heads for the kitchen. Bastard is going to leave him alone. For a second Shane is ready to murder him. Because Michael’s parents are fucking professors. Michael might be a farmer, but he owns that farm. He owns a whole business, even if he didn't finish his business degree. Michael went to college. And Shane works at fucking JojaMart.

“I...uh…” Shane hesitates. But fuck, fuck! “I work in retail…” That doesn't sound any better.

“Do you like it?” Rohan asks, his dark eyes clear with focus.

“I hate it,” Shane blurts out.

Rohan laughs, sitting back on his chair. Michael reappears, a tray in his hands. He sets it down on the coffee table before coming around to sit next to Shane on the couch. All three cups look the same, laced with milk and piping hot.

“Shane makes films too,” Michael explains, “he even won a contest.”

“It was no big deal,” Shane feels the flush rising to his cheeks.

“He's sent a film to the television station out in the county too. He's really talented.”

“Well,” Rohan starts, “I wish you both the best of luck. I'm happy that you're happy, Eshan.”

Michael smiles, “I am, dad.”

\--

After a take-out meal of Lebanese food that Michael’s parents order from down the street, they lounge around the house some more. There doesn't seem to be a plan in particular, other than “spend time with Michael’s parents.” Shane's appreciative that they're so low-key. Not at all what he expected, given that they're both professors and clearly make good money. Maybe he was just envisioning Michael escaping from...something. But maybe that thing was just pressure he puts on himself. 

They watch a couple of hours of television with Michael’s parents, mostly news programs that become spiraling topics of conversation between Michael, Rohan, and Sarah. Shane stays mostly out of it, not sure how to pick up their rhythms, and feeling sort of out of his depth intellectually. But he likes that Michael stays huddled close to him on the couch. He likes that they're always touching.

A little after ten, Michael says he's getting tired. They're going to go visit Shane’s mom across town tomorrow. Then they’re back to Michael’s parents for the evening. And finally out to the Valley the next morning. Shane took the time off from work. It's not a hardship for him to miss the hours.

Michael leads the way upstairs to his old bedroom. They'd been in earlier, after they first arrived to drop off their bags, but this is the first good look Shane has gotten at the room. It must be decorated the same way it was when Michael was in high school. The walls are a soft gray, the ceiling a darker shade. One wall is covered in posters of androgynous rockstars in heavy eyeliner and tight fitting clothing. The text on the posters is an indecipherable combination of broken English and Japanese that Shane can't read.

“I know what you're thinking,” Michael quips, “don't you dare make fun of me. It was a phase.”

The room has a full sized bed, so they fit together just fine, curled into each other like they do at the farm, though they always drift apart during the night, when it gets too warm under the blankets to stay close. Michael wraps his arm around Shane, running his fingers over Shane’s back, feeling out the bones of his spine. “My parents like you,” he says, just at the edges of sleep.

Shane's lids are feeling heavy too. “How can you tell?”

Michael laughs lightly, “They like everyone, but they really like you. They can see how happy I am, with you. And that's what they care about.”

Shane just assumes Michael is mostly happy, but maybe that's a change since he left the city for the farm. “I love you,” Shane still likes how the words feel on his tongue. Sweet and light and true.

“I love you too. Fuck, I love you so much…”

Shane knows there's something more, but it can wait.

\--

Shane’s ma wears her hair in a high, tight ponytail. Keeps strands of it out of her face while she works at the restaurant. But even at home, it's become a habit. She's starting to go gray at her temples, but most of her hair is still dark and glossy.

“Shane!” she exclaims, pulling him in tight for a hug. She's about half a foot shorter than her son, coming up on the balls of her feet to put her arms around his neck before releasing. “And you must be Michael?”

Politely, Michael sticks out his hand, “Yes, pleased to finally meet you.”

Ma shakes Michael’s hand before stepping aside to let them into the apartment. Her bed is shoved into one corner, but she does have a couch in front of a TV set. And she's pulled a folding chair from somewhere. There's no use being embarrassed about his mother. Shane spent his entire childhood hiding the fact that he and his ma weren't as well off as some of the other kids’ families. Michael was going to find out sooner or later.

Besides, it's not as if they lived in this apartment when he was a kid. His dad was still paying child support then and they had a two bedroom, albeit, in a shitter part of town. But when Shane moved in with Marnie, his mom moved to somewhere more manageable. 

“Ma, why don't we go out to lunch? Yeah? Anywhere you'd like,” Shane offers.

She says the diner at the corner is just fine, if he and Michael are hungry? Shane says that's great, even though he doesn't know the place. There's no reason she should have to cook for them, especially since she took the day off to spend with them.

On the way to the diner, they talk about little of consequence, how their bus ride in was, how much longer they're staying in the city, how much snow there has been. Shane thinks his mom’s coat looks too thin for the weather, but she's always been stubborn.

The waitress seems to know Ma, waving to her as she comes inside, the bell on the door rattling against the glass.

\--

Before they leave for Michael’s parents’ house, Ma pulls him aside for a word in private. Michael seems to get the idea, becoming intensely interested in an advertisement for the latest blockbuster action flick plastered to the side of the building.

“Shane,” she brushes her fingers against his cheek. “Are you doing okay?”

The question strikes him as odd. He still has bad days, sure, but on the whole, he feels better than he has in years. He has plans and goals and Michael. “Yeah, ma. I'm good.”

Her eyes are still full of concern. “I worry about you, a lot.” She shakes her head. “Why didn't you tell me sooner?”

“Tell you what?”

“About,” she tilts her head towards Michael, who still has his hands shoved in his coat pockets, staring at the wall. “That you were so serious? Don't you trust me?”

“Oh, ma,” he doesn't know how to explain. How even now he's a little afraid that this is all going to fall apart. That despite Michael’s unceasing kindness, Shane still expects to fuck up. “I didn't mean to hide. I'm just trying to do things right.”

She smiles back at him, gentle and kind. She's afraid too.

Shane slips a check for 5,000g into her hand. He's hardly spent anything from the contest winnings. He wants her to have it. When she starts to refuse, he tells her to spend it on gifts for Winter Star. She tucks the check into her purse.


	9. Winter II

Even though the weather is bitterly cold, Shane takes his lunch breaks outside. Anything is better than being locked inside the sterile, fluorescent hell that is JojaMart for eight hours straight. At least if he goes outside for lunch, he can look out on the river and catch some fresh, un-recycled air of the Valley. Otherwise, he might as well still be living in the city.

After he's made it through his sandwich, he lights a cigarette. Shane usually eats fast and has ten minutes to allocate to doing fuck all before he goes back inside. His fingers start to freeze, so he pulls his gloves back on, fumbling with his cigarette. He drops it into the snow by mistake. Fucking lost cause, he lets it go out.

He's about to head back inside when he catches sight of Harvey and Clint coming out of the latter’s shop. Between them they carry a stretcher, speaking hurriedly to each other and rushing up the path towards the lake.

No, towards the mines.

Shane’s stomach drops. No. Fuck.

He’ll be late getting back to work, but he doesn't fucking care. He shouts at Harvey up ahead, “What’s happening?” His hands are shaking, but not from the cold.

“Shane?” Harvey’s attention turns from Clint. “It's best you don't come. Michael is hurt, but he's fine. He’ll be fine,” Harvey says firmly. “You can come by and see him later. But right now you’ll only be in the way.” While Harvey’s words are, on the surface, rather unkind, he's clearly experienced dealing with fussing friends and family. But all Shane can repeat in his head is that Michael has been hurt. Michael, who hates the mines, has been hurt. And he's probably alone and frustrated and Shane isn't there.

Shane’s about to protest when Harvey gives him a final, firm, “No.”

He doesn't want to go back to work. He won't be able to focus for a second, not knowing what is happening with Michael. Fuck. Heading back to JojaMart, he at least needs to tell Morris he's going home for the day. But he doesn't want to go to the ranch either. Left alone, he’ll just boil over with worry.

As if in a daze, he tells Morris that he needs to go. Frowning, Morris asks for explanation. 

“Michael was in an accident.”

“Who’s Michael?” Morris asks.

Shane stares at his boss like he's grown a third head. Everyone in the town knows Michael. Everyone in the town knows he and Michael are together. How could Morris not? Sure, he doesn't live in Pelican Town, but he works here five days a week. How could he have no idea?

“Michael, my boyfriend?”

“Oh?” Morris remains unconvinced. Flipping through the work log, he finally lifts his head. “I'll mark you down for taking a personal half-day.”

Shane mumbles his thanks and gets the fuck out of there. Working at Joja is really becoming intolerable. But even if he has a bunch of money saved, he still needs a regular income. And he needs a reason to get out of the house. Before this job, he would just lock himself in his room for days at a time, doing nothing at all. The routine has been good for him.

He doesn't head back to the ranch. The place will be empty anyway. Marnie took the truck to the next town over to look into some goats she had her eye on. They’ll be ready for Spring folding season.

He settles on going to Michael’s farm instead. At least he can...he doesn't know. But it feels as good a plan as any.

Leaving his snow-wet shoes by the door, he looks around the house for anything he can occupy his time with. He settles on trying to tidy up the kitchen first. Under the sink are some cleaning supplies, a bottle of all purpose cleaner and some other thing for glass, and a gallon of bleach. 

There are dishes in the sink. So he starts there, rinsing Michael’s coffee cup from this morning and putting it on the drying rack. Then he moves on to scrubbing the countertops.

Shane has no idea if he's done a decent job of cleaning the place up or not. The whole house smells vaguely like the cleaning solution, but other than that, he's got no idea. Now that he's done scrubbing, he's exhausted. He wonders if enough time has passed and maybe Michael is at the clinic. Maybe he's asking for Shane and no one knows that he's here. Maybe he should go check.

Flopping onto the bed, Shane realizes how tired he is. His mind is racing but his limbs are weak. He’ll never be able to get any sleep without knowing how Michael is doing. He’ll try the clinic. Not knowing what's wrong is eating away at him.

He bundles back up in his winter clothes to head into town. The sun is lower and the wind colder than when he first arrived. Even if he can't see Michael, someone should be able to tell him what's going on.

Inside the clinic is stark white, smelling slightly of honey and a little bit of bleach. Maru is in the front office, sorting through Harvey’s ill-kept paperwork. “Oh, Shane!” Her face is happy enough. “Michael is still in with the doctor.”

“Um,” Shane’s throat is scratchy, “is he okay? What happened?”

Maru purses her lips, “There was an accident in the mine. Well, he was attacked by one of the monsters from the lower levels.”

Shane wants to scream. Monsters? What the fuck was Michael doing?

“Some surface burns that aren't too bad, the main thing is he broke his arm. He’ll make a full recovery. But Harvey is setting the break now. If you want to wait for him, it shouldn't be be much longer?”

“Um,” Shane searches for something to say, “burns?”

Maru nods, “But nothing too bad, just gave him a scare, I think.”

Shane sits in the waiting room, squeezing his hands together. There are magazines on the end table. While he pushes them around, he doesn't manage to pick any of them up. The smiling faces with white teeth and blonde hair are too much for him to stomach.

Maybe it's not very long at all, but it feels an age before Harvey steps out of the infirmary, drying his freshly-washed hands. He sighs when he sees Shane, but there's a kindness to it, “I knew you wouldn't stay away.”

Shane hops to his feet, asking after Michael.

“He's awake, you can go see him, if you'd like. And he's a terrible patient.”

Not hesitating, Shane pushes past Harvey to get into the other room. Michael is sitting up in one of the cots, his right arm in a sling and bandages wrapped around his chest. One of his eyes is black, but otherwise, his face looks undamaged. When he sees Shane, he smiles. The first thing out of his mouth is, “I'm fine.”

“You're clearly not,” Shane counters.

“I just broke my arm. I was careless. And I hate the fucking mines,” Michael scowls.

“What happened?” There are chairs in the room and Shane means to sit on one, but Michael scoots over on the cot, leaving enough room for Shane to perch on the edge. 

“I was down on the lower levels, and there was this weird...monster thing I've never seen before. I'm pretty good at dealing with bats, and slimes mostly just want to be left alone but,” Michael shakes his head. “I just wanted to get away, but they struck me in the back and I fell from the ladder.” He lets out a bitter laugh, “I don't know who was more scared, them or me, but they off after that. I managed to catch an elevator back to the surface. Demetrius found me before I passed out. I guess my adrenaline just gave out or something.”

“You weren't being careful,” Shane brushes his thumb over Michael’s uninjured arm. It could have been worse. What if the beast inside the mine hadn't been scared off? What if Michael wasn't stubborn enough to have dragged himself to the elevator?

Michael smiles softly. “Harvey wants me to stick around until the painkillers wear off, do another assessment, then send me home.” He turns his uninjured hand palm up, wiggling his fingers until Shane holds his hand. “Aren't you supposed to be at work?” Michael questions.

“Couldn't focus, I saw Harvey and Clint going to stretcher you out. Left early.”

Michael sighs, then winces, going to grip at his ribs, but his hand is still in Shane’s. He looks exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open. Could be the stress or the pain meds. Shane cards his fingers through Michael’s hair. It still hasn't gotten too long.

“You should sleep,” Shane comments.

“Yeah, don't worry about me. Should make a full recovery.” It doesn't take long for Michael to nod off. Part of Shane really just wants to wait at his side until he wakes up, but there's a bunch of stuff he wants to get done too. He slips out of the room. On his way out, he asks Harvey to call him when Michael needs help getting home. The doctor nods, saying he'll give Shane a ring. Shane leaves Harvey with his cell number.

Shane heads to the ranch, finding Marnie home and preparing dinner. News travels fast and she already knows Michael is hurt. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah, um, his arm is broken though, so I'm just going to...you know?”

Marnie says she’ll pack enough of the stew so they can both have dinner later. She's made plenty.

\--

Harvey does call him, a little after 9pm. He's apologetic, saying that Michael didn't want to wait and left as soon as his exam was over. 

Shane’s been napping on the couch at the farm. He rubs his eyes and starts putting on his shoes. Michael should have waited for him. It's dark outside and he's hurt and maybe still a little drugged. He could just admit that he needs help. Shane grits his teeth, ready to head out the door, but Michael’s key is already fumbling in the lock.

“Shane?” he asks, once he's got the door open.

“Yeah, it's me.”

“You didn't need to wait for me,” he tosses his keys on the table. “I'm okay.”

But he's not okay, his arm is in a sling and his hair is a mess and he only has his jacket half on because he couldn't get it over the broken arm.

“Marnie cooked,” Shane says. “You're probably hungry?”

Michael doesn't even try and fight him on that. “Oh fuck, I'm starving.”

Shane pulls out a pot to warm the stew on the stovetop. Though it's thick and rich, it doesn't take long to heat. Michael flops down on the couch, not careful enough with his arm, squeaking a little when the pain hits him. Hopefully Harvey sent him home with more painkillers, at least to get through the first couple of days.

Michael is right-handed. Michael’s right arm is in a sling. Shane wonders if he's going to be able to use the spoon? He's already set his mind to helping Michael for as long as he needs help. But he wasn't banking on actually like, hand-feeding him. That would be weird, right?

Putting the two bowls of soup down, Shane tells Michael that it's ready. He's relieved when Michael sits down and appears to have little trouble handling a spoon with his left hand. Michael seems to know what Shane is thinking, “I'm not an invalid. And I played a bunch of sports as a kid. So my dexterity with my left hand isn't that terrible. I'll be fine.”

While Michael was sleeping at the clinic, Shane brought a bunch of his stuff over from the ranch. Clothes and his laptop and his razor and meds and shit. Now seems as good a time as any to let Michael in on his plan. “I figure until you're out of the cast...I could stick around.”

Michael raises his eyebrows before going back to blow on his soup again. He sticks a spoonful in his mouth before saying anything. “Yeah, you should stay. But really, I won't need that much help.”

Shane doubts that, but the tension eases out of his shoulders when Michael doesn't pitch a fit about Shane staying. 

They finish up with the stew and Shane takes away the bowls to wash. Michael follows him into the kitchen, pulling the door to the fridge open. Shane's about to object, even though it's hypocritical, because he's pretty sure whatever painkillers Harvey has him on shouldn't be mixed with alcohol, but Michael just pulls out a bottle of water. He struggles trying to uncap it. Turns out his left-hand dexterity will only get him so far.

Shane snickers before reaching over to uncap the water. Grumbling, Michael pulls a bottle of pills from his pocket. “Help me with these too.”

Shane doesn't get a chance to read the label on the pills before Michael swallows two down. But he takes the bottle from Michael’s hands after. It's a pretty standard prescription. Michael can have two pills every eight hours while he still has pain. There's only enough doses for a couple of days. Shane’s never really gone to Harvey for his checkups. Though, he supposes he could. 

Michael doesn't waste time curling up in bed. He's asleep before Shane even makes it out of the bathroom, breathing heavily. Normally, Michael sleeps on his side. At least, normally when Shane is here. But because of his arm, he's flat on his back. Shane is careful not to disturb him as he climbs into bed beside him.

\--

Shane still has to go to his job. He doesn't have enough vacation for however many weeks Michael is going to be in the cast. But he makes them both breakfast in the morning, usually scrambled eggs and toast. Michael whines than he can help, so he normally ends up with the task of whisking the eggs after Shane has cracked them.

While he's making breakfast, Shane puts together a sandwich for Michael to eat later, so he doesn't have to fuss with the mayo jar, or getting the sliced cheese separated. 

They go out to see the girls together. Michael can handle giving them water, but Shane handles the feed. Other than that, there's not much to be done around the farm. Sometimes, Shane leaves Michael in the coop when he heads for work. Michael mentions he might get a dog in the Spring. He'd really like to have one around.

“Do you like dogs?” he asks Shane.

“Yeah,” when he was younger, Shane and his ma had a cat. But he gets along great with Marnie’s dogs. “If you'd like, I can ask Marnie about it? She may not have a litter this year, but she'll know someone who does.”

Michael has Cross in his lap, “Yeah, that would be great.”

They fall into an easy rhythm, but Shane still likes his days off from JojaMart the best. Other than tending to the chickens, they lounge around all day, watching television and cooking and talking. Shane is pretty sure he doesn't want this to end.

But he's still paying Marnie for the room he rents. A bunch of his stuff is still there. He doesn't live with Michael, technically. And Michael hasn't brought their living arrangement up. So once the cast comes off, Shane will probably go back to the ranch. It would be for the best.

Michael leans against Shane’s shoulder. His pain medication ran out awhile ago and he hasn't bothered Harvey for more, saying that he feels alright, as long as he doesn't try to move too suddenly. They've been watching a hockey match on tv. Shane can sort of follow, and Michael is really into it. “I like this, a lot,” Michael says.

“Yeah, me too,” Shane’s chest gets tight.

\--

Shane gets a letter from the tv station. Marnie delivers it to the farm for him, asking if they need anything? Shane promises to visit soon. Marnie says it's no trouble, she's just glad Michael is doing better. She understands Shane wants to be with him. When Shane turns from the door, he realizes Michael heard everything. Redness creeps over Shane's cheeks.

The network isn't interested in his documentary, but would buy the raw footage off of him. He decides to keep it for himself. He wants to make something, assemble it, not just record what's in front of the lens and then have it subjected to someone else’s vision.

“You said you were going to try YouScreen?” Michael asks him from the couch. 

Shane is at the kitchen table, typing out his response to the station. “Yeah, but I'm not sure the festival footage will do well there. I might use some of it in another project. Um, and I have another idea for YouScreen.”

“Yeah?”

Shane grabs his camera, there should be plenty of battery left. When he brought stuff over, one of the things was his console. He hits the power button and turns on the tv. While the game is loading, he aims the camera towards the couch.

Sitting next to Michael, Shane points at the camera. “So like, I'll have to order another piece of equipment but I can record from my console while I'm playing, then talk into the camera, right? I thought, maybe you could play with me too?”

“I'm shit at all your games,” Michael complains. He really should be admitting that he's shit at all games. Because he is.

“That's part of the charm. You're part of the charm. You're really cute when you rage quit.”

Michael feigns offense, saying he would kick Shane’s ass if he wasn't incapacitated. But there's a smile behind his bitter words. They end up kissing, rough with their mouths, even though they have to be gentle with their hands. One of the advantages/disadvantages of Michael’s injury is he lets Shane get him off, basically every time. The other night, he'd tried to suck Shane off without using either of his hands, kneeling on the floor and sucking with enthusiasm until his lips were beet red and swollen. They've been getting creative. But for tonight, they're happy enough just tugging at each other's lips with their teeth.

\--

For the Feast of the Winter Star, Shane has bought six bottles of craft sparkling fruit juice for Penny. Two bottles each of strawberry, blueberry, and peach. He hopes that she likes her gift. As far as Shane knows, she doesn't drink alcohol, so he hopes that he has made a reasonable substitution.

Michael tells Shane to grab Robin’s gift, it should be at the top of his closet. Getting up on his toes, Shane swipes with his hand, grabbing up the gloves Michael stashed away before breaking his arm. They're soft, dark gray leather, well stitched and strong. Michael says when they were last in the city, he thought of Robin when he saw them, and ordered a smaller size to be delivered to the farm.

Since Michael still only has one working arm, Shane wraps both presents with care. He can't quite get the corners sharp, but it's the thought that counts, right? 

With the gifts wrapped, they're ready to depart for the town square. There should be hot mead and cakes, along with the presents and sharply decorated trees. Enough snow is still on the ground that maybe the children have built snowmen too.

Shane helps Michael with his coat. The cast should come off tomorrow. Tomorrow Michael won't need Shane around so much. Shane doesn't want to think about tomorrow.

Michael grabs Shane’s scarf off the hook, tossing it around Shane’s neck with one arm and doing his best to wrap it around, laughing. His arm doesn't really hurt any more, the cast more a hindrance than anything else at this point.

Shane adjusts his scarf to cover his face before opening the door. Michael kisses the side of his head.

\--

Michael’s cast comes off today, but Shane is supposed to go to work. Before they get out of bed, Michael leans over, kiss in between Shane’s shoulder blades. He mumbles something against Shane’s skin. Shane can't parse the words.

They have breakfast together, then go see the chickens. Everything proceeds as if nothing at all is about to change. Shane hasn't bothered to pack his things. He can't bear to think about this ending. But Michael hasn't asked him to stay.

Shane leaves for work. Michael tells him not to worry, it's only a cast removal. There's no reason for him to take the day off. And, logically, Shane knows there isn't. He still asks Michael to text him, once everything is over and done with. Michael promises he will.

At work, Shane’s a mess. He's shelved the same products hundreds of times before, this should be mindless. But he just keeps staring at the labels, trying to remember the difference between lima beans and navy beans as if it's really all that important. He doesn't have to read the text, he can just match the pictures, if that's as far as his brain will let him get.

It's not until after lunch that he gets a text from Michael. It's just “:) home,” which isn't terribly illuminating. Shane spends the afternoon in the freezer section, sorting through four different types of canned orange juice concentrate. Morris asks him what's taking so long? He's needed in the dairy section.

When Shane’s shift ends, he bolts out the door, waving off Morris, who suddenly has one more thing he needs of Shane. Fuck it. He's off the clock. Though once Shane is outside, all urgency leaves him. He wants to see Michael, of course he does, but the cast is off, which means Shane doesn't really need to stay at the farm anymore.

As he crosses the town, he dreams up horrific scenarios where all his stuff is neatly packed away and waiting by the door. Michael isn't so cruel as to leave it on the porch, but he may think he's doing Shane a favor by organizing his things to make the move back to the ranch easier. 

It's too cold to walk so slow. Shane is just delaying the inevitable. He picks up his pace a little. It's already dark outside and the temperature keeps dropping. As he passes the Stardrop, he considers going inside for a drink or three. If he never goes back to the farm, that's sort of the same as never leaving, right?

But, in the end, he makes it to Michael’s door. His set of keys to Michael’s house feels heavy in his pocket. He takes a breath before slipping the key into the lock.

All of his things are right where he left them, his laptop on the kitchen table, his console plugged into the tv, the new snow boots he still never wears paired by the side of the door.

That's about as far as he gets in assessing the situation before Michael smothers him against the wall.

Michael presses his body against the entire length of Shane’s, planting his hands against the wall behind him before planting his mouth against him too. Shane opens up to him, clutching at Michael’s shirt. His mouth is hot and wet and fucking aggressive, not that they're often gentle. But this is like Michael’s trying to devour him, using his hands to squeeze and prod as they leave the wall, seeking Shane’s skin instead.

Michael’s thigh grinds in between Shane’s legs, creeping higher and higher until he’s nearly got Shane up off the ground. Were he taller, maybe he could manage it. As it is, Shane pushes back, straining against Michael, though he can’t really manage to move him much. The fight Shane offers gets Michael to push back even harder. 

“Want you so bad,” Michael grates against Shane’s face, breathing on the shell of his ear. “Been waiting for this fucking cast to come off.”

It’s not as if they’ve been saints with the cast on, exactly. But Michael’s increased mobility does have it’s advantages. He grabs Shane by the hips and pulls him far enough off the wall to tug his shirt over his head, then lets Shane paw his off too. 

It's a little like Michael is trying to swallow him whole and it’s a little gross when Shane realizes how much saliva and heat there is, but it's also flattering as all fuck that Michael seems hell bent on climbing inside him.

Oh.

Well.

Shane's probably ready for that. Even if he's going to break apart in about a thousand prickly shards when he goes home tomorrow. But fucking Michael at the very least means one more night spent here.

Michael shuffles them towards the bed, their feet tripping up under them. Already tugging on Shane’s belt, Michael growls something that sounds like, “I always keep my promises.” Shane remembers one of those oaths distinctly, the one about fucking him through the mattress.

Shane lands on his back, feet dangling off the side of the bed. Michael’s hands are at Shane's belt, working it loose easily now that he's got both hands again. Blood pounding thickly in Shane’s ears, he repeats, “Yes, yes, okay, good, fuck,” while Michael pulls off his pants, tossing them away.

Hooking his arms under the backs of Shane’s knees, Michael nearly bends him in half. Shane feels a short flush of embarrassment at having his legs pulled open, but it's just Michael. He's not going to end up hurt.

“Keep them up, okay?” Michael says, releasing Shane’s legs. It takes Shane a second to catch on. He can hold the position without much trouble.

Shane expects Michael to strip out of his pants, or go grab the lube, or something, but instead he drops to his knees on the floor. Shane strains his neck to try to get a look at what's going on before he feels Michael grabbing at his ass, pulling him apart. He can't really see what's going on.

But he doesn't have to, because Michael’s tongue swipes against his hole in long, wet strokes, before quickly picking up the pace.

“Fuck, Michael, fuck,” Shane drops his head against the mattress, breathing heavily while Michael laps against his skin. He could swear that Michael is smiling, more pleased with himself than anything else. 

A few more passes of his warm, soft tongue and he pulls his mouth away, speaking softly against the thin skin of Shane’s inner thigh. “How about this?” Michael presses his index finger against Shane’s rim, just dipping the pad of his finger inside. “I want to fuck you.” He slides a little deeper. His finger is dry, but Shane is wet and a little loose from Michael’s careful attention. “Want to see you on my cock.” He bites lightly at Shane’s thigh, not applying too much pressure, but dragging his teeth along.

“Yeah, okay, yeah,” Shane’s about ready to say yes to anything. His cock hard and leaking between his legs, it feels like Michael hasn't so much as looked at it. Shane wants to touch himself, take some of the edge off of his arousal, but then he might come too fast. And he wasn't lying when Michael asked him about this before. He likes getting fucked.

Michael paws at him, getting Shane flipped over so he's on his hands and knees on the bed. Grabbing his pillow, Michael folds it in half and shoves it under Shane’s hips. He reaches for the bedside drawer to grab the bottle of lube. It's mostly empty now. They've been using it a lot to stroke each other off. Well, with Michael’s injury, Shane has been doing most of the work. But he hasn't minded in the least. Michael finally kicks away his pants.

Shane feels Michael lick him one last time before replacing his tongue with slicked fingers. Two go in at once, tucked tightly against each other. Fuck, fuck. It's been a long time since Shane’s inserted anything into himself. Longer since someone did it for him. He breathes, trying to get used to the intrusion, while Michael rubs his other hand against the small of Shane’s back.

After a moment to let Shane adjust, Michael starts dragging his fingers out, until only the tips remain, before sliding them back in. He doesn't try to spread them yet, just filling Shane with a gentle rocking motion. 

Shane keeps his hands fisted in the sheets, trying not to lose control too early, but the sensation is really wonderful. Better yet, when Michael picks up the pace, spreading his fingers slightly while he pushes in, collapsing them as he drags back out. Shane starts bucking back into them, trying to keep them deep, enjoying the sensation of being filled.

Michael pulls all the way out, catching his fingers along the rim before leaving Shane empty and still rubbing against the curve of Shane’s ass with his other hand. Shane closes his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, waiting for Michael to breach him with his cock. While he's pretty intimately aware of the size of it, kind of totally average but also kind of wonderful just for being Michael’s, Shane isn't really prepared for the sensation of it pressing into his hole, slow and steady as Michael uses his weight to push. Michael grabs hold of Shane’s hip with one hand, laying the other between Shane’s shoulder blades to keep his head down. He gets the head in with a sharp thrust that knocks the wind out of Shane’s lungs, then pushes steadily until he's sheathed. 

It's a little uncomfortable at first. Shane feels overstimulated, full of Michael and his cock leaking against the sheets and Michael’s hands holding steady but twitching every time he breathes. It's a lot to take in all at once. But Michael starts pulling out, until Shane can feel the head of his cock holding him open before stroking back in and Shane breathes Michael's name. He can hear Michael’s shuddering breath, panting for Shane.

Oh, fuck.

There's the slap of skin on skin as Michael fucks him, the hand from Shane’s back coming to tangle in his hair. Michael’s not trying to crush him, even if he's trying to touch Shane everywhere at once. But he's only got two hands and the one cock. Michael puts his mouth close to Shane’s head, his voice scraping in its desperation. “Don't want to stop, Shane. Oh fuck, touch yourself. Shane, Shane, fuck.”

The pillow under Shane’s hips keeps him elevated enough to slide his hand down to his cock, wrapping his fingers around it. For a moment, he doesn't think he has the concentration to actually stroke himself, because there's so much going on at once. And maybe the sweetest thing is that Michael sounds a wreck above him, breathing heavily and repeating Shane’s name as he pulls at Shane’s hair and fucks into his body. A steady mantra of, “Please, please,” like he can't last either.

Shane strokes his cock, forgetting about dividing his attention and letting the sensations come in waves, enjoying what feels best at that given moment. There's a sound deep in his chest that wants to come out, that wants to roar as he spends against the sheets, stretched and fucked and consumed, smelling Michael everywhere, but also himself, because he's been sleeping in this bed for weeks. He's been living this life for months. He wants this to be home. He wants a great many things.

He comes in a haze of hope.

Over top of him, Michael is nearly sobbing, emptying into Shane. He throbs for a moment more before withdrawing, flopping onto the bed next to Shane. Reaching over, he tugs Shane down, so they're laying side by side. Michael buries his face in Shane’s shoulder, breathing deeply, his hand skittering across Shane’s waist.

“You okay?” Michael asks, his voice soft.

Shane drapes his hand over the smallest part of Michael’s torso. “Yeah.”

Michael pulls his head away from Shane’s shoulder, kissing him lightly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Shane responds.

“Are you hurt?”

Shane shakes his head, best as he can manage. “No, a little sore, but not too bad.”

Michael kisses him again. “I was going to fucking lose it, waiting for that cast to come off. Spending every night with you in my bed. I wanted it so bad,” Michael laughs.

Shane rolls his eyes, like they weren't getting off all the time? But he's happy. He really is. He's happy they've done this, because he wanted it too.

His fingers moving from Shane’s waist to his chest, Michael asks, “Next time you can do me?”

“I thought you said you didn't like it?”

“I said I had bad experiences. But I trust you, so.”

Shane snickers, “I might not be any better.”

“You will be,” Michael says as if that makes it a fact. “Because you care about me. It'll be...better.”

The sound of their breathing almost leads them away from this moment, into the depths of sleep. Though Shane should get up and clean himself. And they should probably change the sheets. Oh, fuck, and it's not even seven and they haven't had dinner. Suddenly Shane is starving.

“Shane?” Michael’s voice interrupts his racing thoughts.

“Yeah?”

Michael tilts his head, so he's looking right into Shane’s eyes. “Um hold on, one second.” Rolling over, he opens the dresser drawer again. Clutching something small in his palm, Michael catches Shane’s eyes again. “They said, ah, that it's tradition, but.” Michael opens his hand, a blue pendant inside. “Shane, will you marry me?”

Shane knows the sound that comes out of his mouth isn't actually a word. A sort of garbled burst of emotion. Michael’s eyes go wide in silent nervousness at Shane’s reaction. It takes a moment for the blankness clouding Shane’s mind to clear enough to sound the syllable. “Yes.”

“Oh fuck,” Michael is nearly shouting. “I was so afraid you'd say no.” They laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks for giving this fic a shot. Comments and kudos are very much appreciated.
> 
> You can check me out on [tumblr](http://imperfectkreis.tumblr.com).
> 
> Also a huge thanks to [Paige](http://bloodwrit.tumblr.com) who cheerleaded me through the process of drafting this fic and collaborated on the creation of the Farmer.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story!


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